A Cruel Summer
by AfricanChieftess
Summary: It should be an enjoyable summer before college but it isn't – someone has been accused of a deadly crime.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: ****All creative rights to the characters belong to their original creator(s). **

**Any real person or place bearing the same name or names have not even distantly inspired me, all incidents being pure invention and having no existence outside of my imagination.**

Rated M** due to coarse language and some violence.**

* * *

A small, black 1990 Mazda crawls cautiously over the graveled lot, stopping at a spot facing the soda machine.

When the driver's door opens, a dark-blonde haired girl steps out, shutting the door with a swing of her hip.

In the creeping darkness, there are only a few cars sitting in the parking lot. A pickup is pulling off the highway and into the gas station next door, its high-beam headlights blazing in the semi-rundown station.

The girl makes her way slowly towards the convenience store, the soft crunch of gravel under her shoes breaking the silence.

Pushing the door open, the bell above it chimes softly, making the clerk look up.

He gives her a quick but thorough once-over.

She has an ample bust, her white vintage top falling off one smooth shoulder. Her small waist meets up with a nice, round, denim-clad butt and shapely hips.

Low red heels with little white dots on them cover her feet, and neat, perfectly trimmed unpainted toes peek out. A long gold necklace hangs around her creamy neck, the medallion resting just below that ample bust.

She has a pretty and open face, large doe-like eyes, a perfect nose, cheeks and lips tinged with pink, a noticeable beauty spot on her jaw.

A sweet, unforgettable, girl-next-door girl. Just what he likes.

His mouth curves into an appreciative smile when her eyes connect with his.

"'Sup," he says with a flick of his chin, flashing his silver tooth.

She gives him a flat smile and a slight nod in acknowledgement before moving away towards the back of the store.

Her cell phone rings as she is grabbing a large bottle of water from the fridge.

"Hi, baby," she says brightly.

The clerk pushes himself back in his chair, leaning to perversely check her out, flipping the pages of his magazine absentmindedly.

He snakes his eyes over her body, working his way up and down.

Her thick hair falls in wispy waves at her back, moving slightly with the motion of her head, shining like specks of gold under the store lights.

She laughs, a melodious sound that makes him want to beg her to let him take her any–

The girl abruptly turns around, startling him. His eyes drag away quickly from her ass to her face, his cheeks flaming red at being caught.

A perfectly tweezed eyebrow goes up questioningly as she walks down the aisle towards the counter.

Clearing his throat, the clerk focuses back on his magazine, the words swimming before his eyes.

"I'll be home soon. . . .I love you. . . .Bye."

Pocketing the phone, she grabs two packs of gummy worms from the stand next to the register, pushing them and the bottle towards the clerk.

He notices a plain gold wedding band on her ring finger. The good ones are always taken.

"How you doin' tonight?" he twangs, wondering how someone so young could be married.

"Fine, thank you. How are you?" she asks politely.

Her voice so close is like delicious silk on skin, and given the chance, he could lose himself in her brown eyes and do anything she asked.

"Fantastic," he answers, flashing the silver tooth again.

He got it after his ex-girlfriend confessed that she had a thing for guys with grills. That phony bitch turned out to do pure justice to the spirit of Jezebel.

His newest crush pulls out a credit card from her wallet, his clammy fingers brushing against hers as he takes it from her.

"This all?"

Instead of answering, she nods.

"Thanks," she says, grabbing the receipt and taking quick strides out of the store like she's in a hurry.

The clerk gives a low whistle as he watches her exit the store, shaking his head in disappointment.

God sure took some time on that one, he thinks.

* * *

Haley peels out of the parking lot, leaving bits of gravel flying behind.

Looking into the rear view mirror, she doesn't see any car following her. To be sure, she takes a glance at the backseat. There's no one there, either. No one followed her.

And then she laughs.

She laughs at her foolishness, of thinking that someone could have followed her, that someone being the creepy store clerk.

The greasy hair in a ponytail, sideburns, silver tooth and large diamond stud just appeared unnatural on him. Not one of them complimented him at all.

She sobers up when she thinks of the moment she caught him staring at her, ogling at her butt. The leering had sickened her and she had almost run out of the store.

Following a moment's hesitation, she checks the rear view mirror again and thankfully, there are no headlights behind her.

With one hand on the steering wheel, she pulls out a packet of gummy worms from the white plastic bag, tearing it open with her teeth.

Her stomach is growling.

She's sucking on her fifth worm when the car lurches forward.

"What…"

The fuel gauge doesn't show anything alarming; a three-quarters full tank wouldn't cause this kind of trouble.

After a few moments of peaceful driving, the car lurches again. Like on command, the engine dies, leaving the car inching slowly forward.

"Oh, crap."

Steering to the side of the road, she hits the brakes and brings the car to a stop.

She peers through the windshield, seeing nothing but farm fields. Pulling out her cell phone, it indicates that there's no signal. And there are no cars in sight.

Hands wrapped around the wheel, her head falls on the back of her hands.

"Crap, crap, crap, crap!" she groans over and over again, tapping her forehead on her hands.

"Why are you doing this to me?"

Head still bent, her hand fumbles over the passenger seat for another gummy worm, the sweetness of her recent weakness making her feel better.

A while later, she lifts her head, her fingers reaching for the ignition.

"I need to get home, okay? And to do that, you have to work, you stupid thing."

She can hear clicking under the hood but the car doesn't start.

"Please, please, please work," she begs, closing her eyes and taking a deep breath.

Her foot presses on the gas pedal repeatedly, the movement causing it to squeak.

"Come on! Come on! Come on!"

The engine knocks and clanks to life.

"Yes! Yes! Hell, yes!"

* * *

"Mmmm," Haley moans as their lips draw apart. "I should come home late more often."

Nathan pulls her on top of him, making her giggle in delight. "Is that right?"

"Definitely. If this is the kind of treatment I get, I should be staying late in school or the café far much longer. A bath, dinner, really really good se–"

He cuts her off with a hard kiss, his teeth tugging at her lower lip, leaving her purring in pleasure.

"You caught me in a good mood tonight."

"A sexy good mood," she murmurs, her lips trailing along his jaw.

Nathan's fingers run through her hair slowly until she looks up.

Propping her chin on her fisted hand where it rests on his chest, she asks in a low whisper, "What?"

"I love you," he replies, twirling a strand of her hair around his finger.

Sliding her naked body over his, her lips drop on his for a kiss.

"I love you, too."

It's gentle and sweet at first, but it soon advances to a fiery heat.

A long while later, they collapse together in sated bliss on the mussed up sheets.

Lazily touching, a heap of tangled limbs, they just gaze at each other, panting as their breathing returns to normal.

"Babe, is it just me or was that just…wow," he whispers, his fingers lightly grazing the side of her face.

"Isn't it always wow?" she grins, rubbing the tip of her nose on his cheek.

His arm goes around her shoulders, pulling her close. "It is, but…I can't explain it. I'm not saying I don't love it because I do, but damn."

"Damn?"

"Double damn."

They laugh and kiss again, cuddling as they take a moment to cool down.

"How was your day?" he asks, his fingers running up and down slowly on her bare arm.

"Okay."

"Just okay? You usually have more to say."

Haley bites on the inside of her lower lip in contemplation. "I–"

Just then, the doorbell rings. It's followed by three sharp knocks.

"I'll get it," Nathan says. "Probably Tim telling me something that he could have easily told me over the phone."

"Tell him that he has the worst possible timing," she groans, pulling the sheet over herself as she watches her husband dress.

"I was hoping to get some more on top of the some."

With a laugh, Nathan draws a t-shirt over his head, leaning down to give her a quick kiss. "I promise to show him my wrath."

"I sure am lucky to have you, honey."

He laughs again, dropping another kiss on her lips.

"Keep the bed warm, you insatiable vixen," he says with a wink as he shuts the bedroom door.

She falls back on the bed with a sigh, an uncontrollable smile on her face.

A shout and a crash from the living room cause her to sit up.

"Nathan?"

Deep voices begin to argue back and forth, causing her to panic. She can't make out what they're saying but it sounds serious.

She dresses quickly in her pajama bottoms and red tank, turning the bedroom door slowly.

"–talking about but you should leave," she hears Nathan say angrily as she walks down the short hallway.

"Nathan? What's going on?"

She steps into a scene straight out of a movie or television show.

Three uniformed and latex-gloved police officers are rummaging through cabinets and drawers, and another is standing outside the open door.

There are shards of glass from the broken vase not far from the doorway, limp sundrops and their pale yellow petals lying on the damp patch of carpet.

Nathan is head-to-head with a rotund, half bald man dressed in khaki trousers and a brown shirt, the two staring at each other like in silent war.

Haley moves to stand beside Nathan, her hand reaching for his back.

"What's going on?" she asks in a low voice.

Before he can answer, the stranger breaks eye contact with Nathan and turns to her.

"Are you Haley Scott?"

Taking a look around, Haley replies, "Yes. Is there a problem…um…officer?"

He pulls out something from his back pocket, flipping it open to show her a shiny gold badge. "Detective. Detective David Collins."

Haley looks around their living room in horror at the mess and disarray.

One of the uniformed officers has moved to the couch, dragging out the cushions and throwing them haphazardly to the floor. She's instantly irked.

"Hey! What are you doing!" Nathan yells, making a move to walk towards the sofa.

Detective Collins steps in front of him. "I wouldn't do that if I were you."

"Then tell him to stop ripping apart our things!"

The uniformed officer smirks at Nathan quite unkindly. Bending forward, he tugs at the armrest, wrenching it apart, stuffing spilling out like snow.

"Stop that!"

Still in a daze of confusion, Haley steps between her husband and the officer.

"Okay. What the hell is going on? What do you want from us?"

"Haley Scott, you're under arrest for the murder of Cornelius Dwight," Detective Collins says, pulling out a pair of handcuffs.

Like someone has sucker-punched her full-force in the gut, air is being siphoned from her lungs speedily and mightily.

"W-what?" she breathes out.

The room starts to spin as she tries to comprehend what the detective has said. There's a sharp pain in her head and her heart is beating at a thousand beats a minute.

"You are under arrest for the murder of Cornelius Dwight," the detective repeats.

Gradual numbness is creeping up, taking over all her senses, her mind, body and soul.

She feels like she's watching the scene play out in slow motion from outside herself.

The coolness of the handcuffs brushing along her skin as the detective reaches for her wrist. . . .Nathan yelling and pulling her back. . . .Shaking her head in disbelief, her face wan and pale. . . .

"Don't touch her," she hears him rumble from beside her.

"Sir, I suggest you step away. Haley Scott, you have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to speak to an attorney..."

The horror of the situation is kicking in.

She feels sick. She wants to throw up, she wants to scream, she wants to slap herself out of the nightmare.

Slowly, the numbness begins to wear off when she hears the click of metal on metal as a cuff is locked around one of her wrists.

Detective Collins pulls her other hand behind her back to bind them together.

"Oh my God…" she moans. "I-I didn't do anything…"

"DON'T YOU FUCKING TOUCH HER!" Nathan bellows from behind her.

She turns her head slowly to see him trying to free himself from the hold of two police officers.

"N-Nathan," she chokes shakily, her eyes tearing up. "I didn't– I swear–"

"It's okay, baby. It's just a misunderstanding. Let go of me, you asshole!" he spews out angrily at the big man with the crew cut.

"Insult me one more time and I will break your kneecaps," the officer tells him with a menacing glare.

His name badge says DeLong, and he was the one ripping apart the couch with pleasure.

"I'll sue your ass so fast that you'll be begging for quarters on the street by the end of the week," Nathan retorts, pushing against them.

She feels herself being shuffled towards the door, her feet like lead beneath her.

"I'm coming to get you, Hales, okay?" Nathan says tenderly from across the room. "I'm right behind you."

She can only nod, her tear-filled eyes blurring her husband's features, the cool evening air hitting her in the face as she's pushed out the door.

The two squad cars sitting at the parking lot with their lights on give her a jolt of reality, the panic and the terror feeding into each other.

She just snaps.

Screaming, she breaks away from the detective, shoving him to turn and run back into the apartment.

Where Nathan is. Where she feels safe.

"NATHAN!" she cries, her wrists chaffing as she fights against the handcuffs.

"HALEY!" he shouts, straining to loosen his hands from the hold of the officers.

Haley finds herself falling flat on the carpet, her cheek being pushed hard into it.

She screams, tears dripping down the side of her face.

"LET HER GO!"

"Where do you think you're going?" DeLong growls in her ear.

She's crying uncontrollably, her face still hard-pressed on the carpet.

"Oh my God…I-I didn't k-kill anyone. P-please let me g-go…"

"Tell it to the judge. Get up," he commands.

When she's pulled up roughly from the floor, she instantly kicks up her legs, losing a slipper, screaming all the while.

"NOOOO! LET ME GO! NATHAN, HELP ME! LET ME GOOOO!"

Nathan, so angry that he can barely see clearly, pushes aggressively against his captors.

"I TOLD YOU NOT TO TOUCH HER! LET GO OF HER!"

Fists are suddenly flying, people are cussing, screaming and shouting. There's a shrill whistle but it doesn't stop the commotion.

A punch in the gut leaves Nathan breathless as he falls to his knees, clutching his stomach.

"NATHAN!" Haley screams, twisting her body from the iron grip around her torso that is holding her in place inches off the ground.

"WHAT DID YOU DO TO HIM! NATHAN!"

The last slipper flies off her foot to land on the kitchen counter but she doesn't care.

"NATHAN!"

She watches him trying to catch his breath, coughing against the brutality of the blow.

"BABY! Nathaaaan…" she moans painfully amidst her tears as she's carried out of the apartment, fighting to break free and run to her husband.

The apartment's door slams behind them, and defeated, she just slumps against her carrier.

"Noooo…"

"Much better," DeLong says smugly as they get to the stairs.

"Y-you hurt him…why did you hurt him?" she sniffles, feeling like a ragdoll on display as they pass by their curious neighbours.

She wants to break his legs and skin him alive for what he just did to Nathan.

"We warned him but he still threw the first punch. He's lucky that I didn't take out my taser."

The flashing red and blue lights in the apartment complex's parking lot are like strobe lights at a nightclub.

She is pushed into the backseat of a police cruiser before the door is banged shut.

Still crying, she lifts her eyes to look at their apartment in the corner of the first floor.

"You better hope to God that he's okay," she warns with an icy edge to her voice.

"I don't believe in God, sweetheart," DeLong responds dryly, turning the ignition.


	2. Chapter 2

It feels like years pass while he's in that crouched position, his lungs burning as he tries to catch a breath.

The silence in the apartment is deafening all around him.

Coughing against the itchiness in his throat, Nathan looks around at the mayhem left behind.

Everything is topsy-turvy. It was a sadistic search, and they left with the most important thing in his life.

The look on her face was full of absolute terror as they put the cuffs on her, treating her like some criminal.

Taking a few short breaths, he uses the torn arm of the couch to pull himself to his feet. Dizziness makes him lose his balance, his fingers gripping the armrest as he waits for it to pass.

Drawing in a long deep breath and blinking to rid his eyes of the coloured dots, he takes measured steps towards the bedroom.

Like a tornado tore through the apartment, clothes are strewn all over the room, drawers are hanging open, and no surface was spared.

Pushing aside the clothes with his bare feet, he makes his way to his bedside table. He grabs the cell phone from the partly open drawer, scrolling through the contacts list until he finds the number he's looking for.

Surprisingly, he's as calm as still water as he waits for the person on the other end to pick up.

"_Hi, Nate."_

He cuts to the chase. "Mom. I need a lawyer."

"_A lawyer? What for? "_

His shoulders sag and he plops down on the bed, the scene replaying in his head, leaving cold fear in his chest.

"Haley. Th-they came for her and took her a-and now…oh my God…"

The shock is wearing off as he really thinks about what is happening.

"_Who, Nathan? Who came for her? You're not making any sense. Is Haley alright?"_

"She's been arrested."

"_What? Why?"_

"They're saying that…that she killed someone."

Her gasp lingers over the line for a moment.

"_I…I'll have to check my address book but I'll send you a number as soon as I can."_

"Thanks, Mom. I-I really appreciate it."

The phone is still held to his ear when he feels it beep and vibrate.

His thoughts are lost to the moment he opened the door, the cops shoving the search and arrest warrants in his face.

And then the detective was asking about Haley, saying that she was a suspect in a murder.

Not shoplifting, not running a traffic light, not dealing weed, but murder.

Murder.

He should have shut the door in their faces before they walked past the threshold. The worst of it was seeing the look on Haley's face, seeing her crying, asking him to help her. . . .

Squeezing his eyes tightly, he swallows down the heavy lump stuck in his throat before dialing.

"Hello? May I please speak to Michael Culpepper?"

* * *

At the foot of the stairs leading into the Pleasant Hill police station, there's a mass of people waiting.

Like wild animals spotting prey, the group is already on the move when it sees the squad cars with the flashing lights and wailing sirens.

Reporters.

Sniffling, Haley faces forward stubbornly as the car comes to a stop.

"Smile, sweetheart," DeLong sneers before stepping out of the vehicle.

She has decided that DeDouche suits him better. He's a wanna-be detective who uses brawn to intimidate people, bragging about how the people of Pleasant Hill are waiting for justice after a Tree Hill resident killed one of their own.

Throughout the ride, he didn't hesitate trashing her hometown, like Tree Hill was a town built in the middle of some stinky marshland that only idiots and the insane would dare reside there.

In his icy blue eyes, she's at fault because she's not from Pleasant Hill.

He opens the back seat, pulling her out roughly, her hands and fingers cramped where they are cuffed behind her back.

"Enjoy the limelight."

She could spit in his face but she doesn't have that kind of energy, every morsel of her feeling humiliated and traumatized.

Camera bulbs flash, one after another, blinding her and causing her to stumble. One of her bare feet steps on a small stone and she grits her teeth against the tingling pain.

DeLong shoves her in front of him none too gently as they push their way through the press.

The reporters thrust their microphones and handheld recorders in her face, and she tries to ignore all the questions they're yelling at her.

_"Is this the suspect?"_

_"What evidence do you have of her committing the crime?"_

_"Did you kill Cornelius Dwight?"_

_"Was it a crime of passion?"_

_"How old are you?"_

"_Did you confess to the murder?"_

DeLong, as horrendous as his people skills are, deftly elbows his way through the journalists until she's shuffled into the police station.

The brightness in there causes her to narrow her eyes, and she has to be careful not to trip over her feet. There's no need to deepen the humiliation and have them laugh at the clumsiness that all Tree Hill residents must possess.

Her limbs are visibly shaking as DeLong pushes her violently into a chair at the end of the hall, his firm and heavy hand on her shoulder.

"Don't even think about running," he warns.

A slow calculating smile crosses his face, his eyes sparkling with hatred. "I'll be forced to shoot you."

She only met him an hour ago but his hostility tells her that he has it out for her for some reason. Might as well try to get blood out of a stone with the deficiency of sympathy and objectivity he's shown her.

"We caught Dwight's killer," DeLong says loudly to the sergeant behind the booking desk.

"Can you believe that she was foolish enough to go home after killing him mercilessly like that?"

Haley wants to scream that if she had killed Cornelius Dwight, she wouldn't have been foolish enough to go home, share a bath, dinner and a bed with her husband, all the while waiting for the police to break down their front door and arrest her.

She vows not to say anything without a lawyer. She's not guilty, but there's no way in hell she'll give them more ammunition to persecute her. She has nothing to hide but she has the right to remain silent. She has the goddamn right to remain silent.

Hiding her face under the cave of her hair, she feels alone and lonely as she glances around the large room, cold panic welling up inside her at the realization of what is happening.

_"...you are under arrest for the murder of Cornelius Dwight..."_

_"...did you kill Cornelius Dwight..."_

"…_Dwight's killer…"_

The pale green walls are closing in, making her short of breath.

A sob escapes her and she clamps her mouth shut to prevent any other sounds that will draw attention to her.

Feeling faint headed, the sensation to sink into permanent nothingness is unbridled when she spots several officers looking her way intently.

They cast her curious glances, snickering amongst themselves like children in a middle school playground.

The smug and condescending gazes are continuously thrown her way, and not one of them is showing pity or understanding.

They're treating her like she's the suspect they were after, like she's already guilty of killing Cornelius Dwight.

Gulping, she looks down at the floor, blinking rapidly against the rising tears and feeling sick to her stomach at what is ahead of her.

Who the hell is Cornelius Dwight?

* * *

Nathan stomps out of the Tree Hill police station, running down the steps two at a time. They actually took her all the way to their town just to have some sort of power over her when she's on their turf.

His phone is ringing as he approaches the car. Lucas, it says, when he draws it out of his pocket.

Ignoring it, he pulls the door open and throws the phone on the passenger seat, frantic as he turns the ignition.

The car doesn't start.

Quite agitated, he slams his hand down on the steering wheel.

"Shit!"

Pumping down on the accelerator and simultaneously turning the key, the Mazda finally purrs noisily to life, as if whining for being roused from slumber.

Lately, the clunker has been temperamental, what with the gazillion miles it has on it. Soon enough, it may require jumpstart cables to get it to crank up.

In a flash, he's careening down the highway towards Pleasant Hill, driving as fast as the little car can go.

His thoughts are jumbled, jumping from how Haley is doing to keeping tabs on the speedometer. Being arrested for speeding when he's on his way to find out why his wife was arrested is the last thing he needs.

The cell phone trills persistently on the passenger seat every other minute with messages and phone calls.

He ignores them all, not wanting to talk to anyone until he knows what the hell is going on.

From the corner of his eye, he catches a flash of orange and with a quick glance at the road, he reaches for the small package on the passenger seat.

Gummy worms.

She tasted of gummy worms when he kissed her after she came home.

Replacing the pack on the seat, he slows down as he approaches the railroad crossing.

The alarm is blaring and the overhead light is blinking red, the electric barrier starting to lower down.

Tapping his thumbs on the wheel, his jaw ticks as he watches the freight train pass, muttering soft cusses at its slow speed.

It's only when he sees the large white C marked on one of the passing freight cars that he remembers the lawyer.

Paying no attention to returning the seventeen missed calls, he searches for the lawyer's number.

"Mr. Culpepper, it's Nathan Scott."

"_Nathan. I'm on my way to the police station. Are you there already?"_

"About that. They told me that she's in Pleasant Hill."

"_Pleasant Hill? They took her to the next town?"_

"Yes."

"_We'll figure it out later. When you see her, tell her not to say anything until I get there, alright? Not one word. God knows what they'll sieve out and use against her."_

"Okay. Thank you."

Hanging up, Nathan watches as the last boxed car trudges along over the rail tracks before the barrier lifts.

He resumes his speedy driving, knowing that the welcome sign for Pleasant Hill is not too far away.

He's getting close to Haley.


	3. Chapter 3

Everything is a bland grey in the room; the walls, the table, the chairs, the floor.

Haley is cold, chilliness oozing off the cemented floor under her bare feet.

There are no windows, not even the large one-sided one she's seen on crime shows where a suspect can't see beyond it but someone on the other side can see them.

There's a fan, though, high up on the wall near the air vent, whirring away silently and offering very minimal fresh air with its every cycle.

She spreads her hands out, her wrists now cuffed in front of her.

Her fingertips are smudged with black ink after they booked, photographed and fingerprinted her.

The gold wedding band she never takes off is somewhere in a storage locker under the roof of the police station.

Sitting there alone in the gloomy room has led her to thinking about her problem.

She likes to live by the rules, avoiding complications by choosing not to break the law, but this has changed everything. From now on, this will be hanging over her head.

Every time she applies for a job that requires a background check, this will be the pièce de résistance.

What school will hire a teacher with a criminal record? Murder, of all things?

What college will even allow anyone with murder charges to strut around their campus?

Minimal wage jobs are going to be her new best friends. If she's lucky.

Feeling a tear trickle down her cheek at her bleak future, she stares at the pink rings around her wrists from how tightly she'd been bound.

She honestly believes that DeDouche wanted to cause her physical harm without being obvious about it.

The door opening draws her back into unyielding mode, her hands falling to her lap as she sits rigidly in the chair.

Detective Collins walks in, tie loosened, shirtsleeves still folded up to his elbows. His balding head shines like a coin beneath the fluorescent light on the ceiling.

"Left your pets behind?" Haley hears herself ask.

His face scrunches up in confusion. "My pe– oh."

He laughs, a deep belly laugh that turns his padded cheeks pink. "I told them to sit tight and have some coffee."

"Can I have some coffee?"

"Maybe later."

She watches him coolly as he pulls out one of the metal chairs on the opposite side of the table, dropping a white file on the table as he sits.

"You're quite a fighter," he says, rubbing at his ribcage.

"Did I hurt you?"

"Yes."

"I meant to."

She's surprised at how brazen she is riling up a lawman like this.

The detective laughs again, genuinely amused. "Shouldn't you be begging me to let you go?"

"Why am I here?"

"Why do you think you're here?"

"You tell me."

He regards her quietly, pulling open the folder.

"Haley James Scott. Eighteen, dark blonde hair, brown eyes, five-foot-five. Graduated in June from Tree Hill High. Married at sixteen to Nathan Scott, Tree Hill High's basketball star. Sixteen, huh? You moved fast."

She doesn't answer, mystified that they have a file on her. They have a fucking file with details about her life.

Detective Collins focuses back on his notes.

"Waitress at Karen's café, good student, part time tutor, valedictorian, sent early applications to Stanford, Duke and Kenyon and accepted to all three. Impressive. Have I missed anything?"

"What did I have for breakfast?"

"Let's see…Cheerios."

His answer makes her clench her hands into fists.

"Have you been…following me?"

"Yes." He bursts out into one of his boisterous laughs. She's curious as to whether he's supposed to be the good cop.

"Of course not. We did some searching. And checked your trash. Do you eat macaroni and cheese three times a day all year round? Your pantry was filled with a dozen boxes of it."

She's pissed. They went through their trash?

"Why am I here?"

"We have reason to believe that you shot Cornelius Dwight earlier tonight."

"Really?"

"You were caught on camera pointing a gun at him and killing him."

As cool as her demeanor is, she is scared shitless, her mind on overdrive at the grave accusation.

"Who is Cornelius Dwight?"

Detective Collins leans back in his chair, folding his arms across his chest. "He was the night clerk at Fowler's a few miles from here. Why did you kill him?"

"Fowler's?"

"Convenience store just off the highway."

The leering cashier was Cornelius Dwight?

"I did not kill him."

"The video clearly shows you did."

"The video is wrong. I want to speak to a lawyer."

"You know murder will send you away for not less than twenty-five years."

It takes a lot of control not to start wailing. That number has shut every door in her mind, chipping at her already fragile confidence.

"I-I want to talk to a lawyer."

"You're a kid. This is your first offense. The ju–"

"Detective Collins, you have not accused me of assault or looting a bunch of rare jewels. This is murder. As a first, fifth or tenth offense, no judge or jury will think of feeling sorry for anyone already proclaimed guilty of murder. Pardon my language but that will not fucking fly with me, either."

"You kids and your damn television shows. Real life doesn't work like that."

She looks away from him to a spot on the wall behind him. "I want to speak to a lawyer."

Before he can respond, there's a brash knock on the door and DeLong pokes his head in.

Detective Collins follows him out the door, leaving it partly open.

There's a rush of voices but Haley disregards them, preoccupied with the fact that she's being held in a police station for a crime she did not commit, looking at twenty-five years in prison ahead of her.

"Haley?"

Her gaze slowly moves to the door where a tall man with raven-black hair that brushes his collar is standing. The dark green eyes are looking at her with compassion.

"Yes?"

"I'm Christopher Culpepper. Your lawyer."

"M-my lawyer?"

He doesn't look that much older than her. The leather jacket, t-shirt and jeans make him look like a graduate student home for the summer rather than a lawyer.

"Yes."

He places a black briefcase on the table before turning to the door.

"Gentlemen, get these cuffs off my client," he shouts harshly. "Does she look like she's about to run?"

She sits quietly staring at the floor as a disgruntled DeLong crosses the room towards her.

The fear has left her weak and light-headed, and her hands are wobbly as she holds them out.

With an unhappy noise, DeLong turns the key in the lock, releasing the cuffs.

"Thank you," she says softly, rubbing her wrists.

She doesn't see the flicker of surprise in his eyes, her body slumped in the chair in emotional defeat.

"Have they treated you violently in any way?" the lawyer asks as he sheds his jacket after they leave.

Shaking her head takes a lot of effort.

"Your husband and mother-in-law hired me," he states as he pulls out papers from his briefcase.

A wave of relief washes over her at the mention of Nathan, making her raise her downcast eyes.

"W-where is he?"

"He's grabbing something from the car. I understand that you are being accused of murdering a…Cornelius Dwight?"

"Yes," she says.

"Do you know who he is?"

"No."

"Have you ever met him?"

"Yes. Earlier tonight on my way home."

The lawyer scribbles in his yellow legal pad whilst nodding his head, a lock of his hair bouncing with the movement.

"Okay. I need to step out for a minute and collect all the information they have about this case. Stay put, alright?"

At that, she smirks, tilting her head. "Mr. Culpepper–"

"Christopher."

"Christopher. I'm sure if I as much as put my nose out that door, someone will gladly shoot it clean off."

With an easy smile, Christopher leaves the interrogation room.

* * *

Still and silent, she looks like she's in a trance when he walks in.

"Hales…" he croaks again, his throat aching as he stares at her.

It makes him go crazy with fury when he thinks of how she's being treated.

She hears him.

Her brown eyes lift slowly and fix upon his, drinking him in, a flash of joy at the sight of him making her shoulders sag.

A childlike helplessness surrounds her, like it's been branded into her since they last saw each other over an hour ago.

Her mouth starts to quiver, her eyes water, and a haunting moan passes her lips.

"N-Nathan…"

In a split second, he's crouched beside her, his trembling arms dropping his luggage and going protectively around her.

"I'm here, babe."

She's in tears as she buries her head in his shoulder, her arms wrapped tightly around his neck, clinging onto him.

"Y-you're here…"

Her desperate tone absolutely breaks his heart.

He runs his fingers gently through her hair, pressing kisses to the side of her face.

"I am," he whispers softly into her ear.

He feels her nod against the crook of his neck as she sobs, her body shaking with every cry.

"I-I s-swear I d-didn't d-do it," she cries.

"I know, baby. I know. We'll get you out of here, okay?"

She pushes away from him slowly, eyes shining with tears as they look into his.

"I'm so s-sorry to put you through this," she says, her voice wobbling as he cradles her face in his hands.

His fingers brush away the tear streaks on her cheeks, his soul split in two at the sorrowful tenderness in her eyes.

"Don't be. It's not your fault."

"Oh my God, Nathan…this is b-bad…they're going to take me to p-prison…"

"We'll make it right, Hales. I got you a lawyer."

"I-I met him. He looks like a nice guy."

"I hope he's a harsher lawyer."

It turned out that Michael Culpepper had died of a stroke three months ago, but his son had taken over the family business.

She laughs then, leaning down to kiss him. "Are you okay, honey?"

"Yeah. I promise."

Her hand touches a spot on his abdomen in question.

"It's nothing. I promise," he repeats. His body turns rigid when he sees the pink marks around her wrists.

"What is this? What the hell did those assholes do to you?"

"It's not as bad as it looks," she says lightly.

As angry as he is, he soothingly strokes the raw wounds.

He feels a shudder go through her, unmistakable goose bumps rising on her bare arms.

"You're cold."

Reaching for the items on the floor, Nathan unfolds the dark blue Ravens sweatshirt, holding it out over her head.

It's sizes too big but it's one of her favourite things from Nathan's closet that she loves to wear.

He fastens sneakers over her feet, straightening the legs of her pajama bottoms.

"Th-thank you," she sniffles.

He gives her a few short kisses, raises himself to his full height and drags a chair from the other side of the table.

Engulfing her hands in both of his, he rubs them affectionately.

She feels calmer, better that he's here. The moment he's gone, she knows she'll fall apart. For two years, he's been her rock, her pillar, her best friend.

Leaning her head on his arm, she tells him in a quiet tone about the ride and the booking process.

"I'm so s-scared, Nathan…" she sobs.

Back in the waiting area, they looked at her like she was a serial killer that they had finally apprehended.

"It's going to be okay, Hales," he says quietly, his throat burning once more.

"I-I don't know about that, honey. It's so horrifying! Murder…"

He doesn't know what to say because his horror cannot compare to hers.

"I need to tell you something, Nathan."

"What is it?"

Christopher Culpepper clears his throat. They did not hear him walk in.

"Sorry to interrupt but I've been briefed about everything."

He drops a sheathe of papers in the middle of the table and pulls out the remaining empty chair.

"They showed me the video and they are quite convinced that it is you pulling the trigger."

He removes a pair of black rimmed reading glasses from his briefcase, perching them on the bridge of his nose.

"I-I swear Mr. Cul– Christopher that it's not me."

"Then let's convince them of that. I need you to run me through what happened until you were arrested."

Haley breathes in and out heavily before speaking.

"After my shift at the café, I left with my friends for the shooting range."

"Separately or in one car?"

"Separately."

"Where was this shooting range?"

"Here in Pleasant Hill."

Christopher breaks eye contact with her momentarily, jotting down on his legal pad. "Okay. Please continue."

"We spent about an hour and a half on the range before leaving."

"What time was this?"

"4:30. I remember because I..." Her words trail off and she sneaks a glance at Nathan.

He squeezes her hand reassuringly'

"Um, it was about 4:30 when we decided to leave. I had some errands to run so I didn't go back to Tree Hill with them."

"Why were you left behind?" Christopher asks curiously.

Her free hand rubs along her pajama pants nervously.

"There was something I needed to do."

Christopher clicks his pen.

"We are trying to retrace your steps before tonight," he explains calmly. "Can you tell me exactly what you were doing?"

Her eyes flit across Nathan's. "I had an appointment."

Nathan gives her a questioning look. "Are you sick?"

She doesn't answer.

"Haley, I can't help you if you don't tell me everything," Christopher repeats.

Turning in her seat to look at her husband, she blows out a breath and says quietly, "I…I'm pregnant, Nathan."

All those similes and expressions he's used in essays are a reality. His head starts pounding, his heart skips a beat, it falls to his stomach and everything spins out of control.

Worried that he may pass out, he breathes out slowly until the pressure is gone.

"Say something," she begs him, her fingers brushing along his knuckles.

"When did…?"

"Yesterday. I-I wanted a confirmation so I booked an appointment here without anyone knowing."

It was pretty convenient that at the time she had suspected she was pregnant, Deb had finally convinced her to take a trip to the shooting range. In Pleasant Hill, far enough from Tree Hill where she could get a doctor's opinion without having to look over her shoulder.

"I-I wanted to tell you but they came for me and…"

She lets out a sob, bowing her head. "I'm so sorry…"

His arm is instantly around her shaking shoulders, pulling her close.

"I think I played my part in this too, babe," he says lightly, praying that his voice is not a shrill whistle to give him up.

She lifts her head, wiping at the tears in the corners of her puffy eyes with her sleeves.

"I didn't think I would be telling it to you like this." She looks around the room.

"In a-a police station of all places! I w-was hoping you'd be happy…"

"N-no. I'm just…stunned. Stunned but happy. I just wish we were at home."

His eyes are dancing with deep panic, his heart is still thumping like a jackhammer, but he musters a smile.

It calms her, and her hand rests over his.

"Y-you're happy?"

"Like a dog with two tails," he grins.

He's also scared out of his mind. His teenage wife is pregnant and she's facing criminal charges for murder. How's that for a slap in the face?

"How far along are you?"

"About eleven weeks."

"I have to say that this is turning out to be quite an unusual night," Christopher pipes.

They look startled, as if just remembering that he's in the room with them, two feet away.

"Sorry," Haley says, blushing. It hits her then that she may have her baby in prison. It's a horrific and sickening notion.

Instead of dwelling on it, she plows on, driving the thought to the back of her mind.

"I-I left Pleasant Hill at about 6:45. I got thirsty and hungry, so I stopped by the convenience store. The car stalled about a mile down, so I waited for fifteen minutes, restarted it, and it worked. I got home and then the cops came."

"Do you have it?"

"Have what?"

"The receipt. From the store."

"Um…yes. It's still in the car. Glove compartment."

"Did anyone stop to help you when the car broke down?"

"No."

"No one?"

"No one."

"Did anyone see you leave the store and drive off?"

The clerk probably did but his testimony can't do her any good.

"I don't think so."

Christopher sighs, shaking his head, looking down at his papers. "I have to be honest here, Haley. Everything seems to be against you."

"But it's all circumstantial, right?" Nathan points out.

"Y-you can't help me?" she asks, her eyes wide with fright.

"I'm going to do my best to help you. I've dealt with some criminal law but so far, it's all been fraud and petty crimes. But I promise you that I'm going to do my best, alright?"

Haley nods meekly, gripping Nathan's hand tighter.

"I-I don't want to go to jail, Mr Cul– Christopher. I really don't. I mean, I have a baby to think about!"

"Let's take it one step at a time, okay?" he says kindly. "I'll call in some favours and book a bail hearing for you tomorrow morning. You will be allowed to enter a plea and then the judge will set your bail."

He pauses, looking back and forth between them. "Until then, I'm sorry but you will have to spend the night here."

Silence hangs in the room.

It's not until Christopher says it that it actually hits home.

She had thought about being locked up for a fleeting moment but she had quickly dismissed it because it was terrifying focusing on it for longer than a second.

"Oh my God..." she moans, feeling the tears rising up again.

"I'm really sorry." He turns to Nathan. "She will need a change of clothes for tomorrow. Did you bring her anything?"

Nathan blinks slowly, also in disbelief that she's going to sleep in a jail cell. They have woken up together every morning since they got married.

"I…I have some things in the car." He grabbed what he could from the disarray that was their bedroom.

"How much do you think the bail will be?"

"It depends. Usually from hundreds to as much as millions. This is a serious charge, so it could run very high."

More silence.

"W-we don't have that kind of money," Haley stammers.

"I'm going to be honest here. If you're unable to make bail, you won't be freed until you have a trial."

"A t-trial?" Haley whispers, imagining all sorts of scenarios where lawyers are objecting and sustaining, and a jury is composing the worst punishment for a cold blooded killer.

"You're eighteen and you'll be tried as an adult. A trial will give us a platform to defend your innocence and rebuke the police for being so quick to jump to conclusions."

"Are they planning to investigate?" she asks hopefully.

"From their behaviour, it's an open and shut case of who shot whom. They just don't know why. If we put pressure on them, they will be forced to investigate. That way, when you are declared innocent, we can sue them for wrongful arrest."

Her courage is slipping, her mind quite unprepared about everything that's happening and everything that's yet to happen.

"One more thing," he starts, pausing again and tapping his pen on the yellow paper. "You should be prepared for the judge to deny bail."

"What? Why?" Nathan asks in a weak voice, not quite believing that he's having a conversation with a lawyer about making bail for his wife who was arrested for murder.

"For murder one charges, it's rare to be granted bail."

"So, what? She's going to be taken to prison?" Nathan asks, sounding frustrated.

"Yes." The lawyer does not mince his words. "It could go both ways tomorrow. You will either make bail or not."

"Either or…oh my God."

Her face has grown pale, her voice has a slight tremble and she's staring vacantly at the wall.

Nathan rubs her hand gently where they lay joined together on his lap under the table.

"Hey…we'll figure it out, okay?" he says, placing a kiss to Haley's temple.

"H-how? The judge says no and I'm taken to God knows where for something I didn't do. For apparently killing a guy who had friends who were cops because–"

"Have they treated you brutally?" Christopher asks, his eyes running over her body.

Mentioning the tight handcuffs won't do her any good. It will probably elevate DeLong's dislike towards her to mammoth heights.

"No," she says, weary, disentangling her hands from Nathan's, and pulling the sleeves of the sweatshirt, fisting them in her hands.

"I'm just curious why the police seem so…satisfied about arresting me, that's all."

Christopher stops writing and looks at her. "Cornelius Dwight was a police informer."

It's no wonder they want her head on a silver platter.

* * *

In a corner of the police station, Detective David Collins leans back in his chair, watching as the lawyer and the husband head towards the main door.

A twenty-year veteran of the Pleasant Hill Police Department, David Collins started off as a beat cop working traffic. Over the years, he moved up the ranks until he made his career breakthrough after busting up a drug trafficking ring.

A drug trafficking ring that Cornelius Dwight had been involved in, but after a plea bargain, he'd walked.

Pleasant Hill was a big enough place, a cross in size between a small town and a city, but it did not operate like the large cities. Towns outside the capital city's limits did not have a problem with heavy crimes like their metropolis sister.

As much as crime lords took advantage of the Pleasant Hill port to conduct their shady businesses, violent crimes were rarities.

There hadn't been a murder in Pleasant Hill since, well, ever. The only suspicious death had been of an out-of-town John Doe who had drowned in the river, but that was ruled a suicide since no foul play had been involved. Detective Collins was in eleventh grade when it had happened.

Drug dealing through the port was their major problem, so much so that a task force had been formed that he foresaw.

He was used to tracking down cocaine, marijuana and crystal meth dealers, and murder was a new territory for him.

For someone to murder a native of Pleasant Hill was big news. His desk phone was off the hook because of the constant calls from the local radio, TV and newspaper reporters asking for details.

Most of the time, he didn't mind feeding them tidbits about how much cocaine they'd seized from a college student's trunk. Sometimes, he'd pass on water cooler gossip about what drunken highfalutin wife had been arrested after causing a fracas at a wine bar or which bored housewife had been running an illegal sex hotline. This case was big.

He'd been slaving in the police department for years; it wasn't enough for him to be a drug trafficking cop anymore.

The Police Chief was retiring and taking his place sounded more exciting than being stuck chasing druggies. He didn't mind the politics that came along with being the boss of the department.

With a sneaky smile, he links his hands over his slightly protruding stomach and moves his gaze to the sheets of paper detailing everything about Haley Scott.

* * *

It's almost midnight when they leave the police station.

Christopher throws him a wave before backing up his car, a sleek BMW that probably doesn't require a legion of curses rained down on it for it to start.

When its taillights disappear, Nathan backs up the Mazda slowly from the station's parking lot, driving just as slowly towards the end of the street.

He drives to the business district, his eyes darting this way and that like a thief scouting for a target.

Down a street that has a hardware store, still-open diner, motel with a broken blinking sign and bookstore. The Pleasant Hill elementary, middle and high schools are at the edge of the city center, the exit leading towards the port.

He circles around twice, and after making sure that no one is likely to call him out on suspicious behaviour, he skillfully swerves the car into a shaded space a couple of yards from the Baptist church.

Large trees line around the property, and in the darkness, the car is small enough to blend well and appear imaginary underneath a canopy of chunky drooping branches.

He sits quietly, his breathing laboured, his eyes scurrying around on the lookout for someone to pounce from the shadows and tell him to get lost.

Five minutes go by without a noise.

Letting out a breath slowly, he punches the knob of the old radio, leaning back on the headrest and pinching the bridge of his nose.

The late news bulletin comes on after a string of singers bemoan lost love and rebuke their replacements.

He clutches the steering wheel tightly when the reporter's voice moves on to a story he's now familiar with.

"…_was found dead by the store manager at 7PM. A suspect has been apprehended and she has been identified as eighteen-year-old Haley Scott, daughter-in-law of Tree Hill mayoral candidate Dan Scott. A graduated student of Tree Hill High School, Scott was arrested tonight for the murder of Dwight, a store clerk at Fowler's off Highway 15. Sources say that there is clear evidence poi–"_

Furious, he punches the knob again, cutting off the reporter mid-persecution.

Thick pain thrums in the pit of his stomach, and his heart pounds with fright and anticipation.

How did everything go straight to hell in a matter of hours?

A hooting owl draws him out of his misery, and he reaches for his phone from the passenger seat.

When he calls his mother, she's awake. He thanks her for the lawyer, explaining about Michael's demise and Christopher's willingness to help.

In short sentences, he tells her about the situation. She asks where he will spend the night and he lies, saying that he's sitting in a motel room.

Of all the missed calls from his friends, he picks out his brother Lucas. He's also Haley's best friend.

Lucas is frantic, yelling over the line before Nathan can greet him.

"_What the hell is going on, Nate!"_

"Did I wake you?"

"_Nate."_

He sighs, closing his eyes as he starts to speak quietly.

He feels weary when he's done, like there's an invisible two-ton cargo on his shoulders.

"_She's in jail! She's spending the night in freaking jail!"_ Lucas shouts.

"Yeah."

She seemed stronger than him as she was led away, swallowed up in the sweatshirt with its bulky sleeves and long hem.

"There'll be a bail hearing tomorrow morning a–"

"_What time?"_

"Ten." He chucks his shoes, staring off at a swaying branch far ahead.

There's silence between them for a few seconds.

"_How is she, Nate?"_

"Scared." She was trembling the entire time he was with her. "She's scared."

He almost adds that she's pregnant but he catches himself. They decided not to share the news.

"_Forget waiting. I'm on my way."_

"It's late, Luke. I'll be back tomorrow and we'll talk then."

"_Na–"_

He hangs up, cutting off his brother before he can say more, switching off the phone.

Flipping his wallet open, he takes out the miniature photograph he carries with him of them on their wedding day.

There's a larger version of it mounted on their living room wall amongst other hanging photographs.

It's wrinkled and slightly faded from years of being pulled in and out of its storage, but even so, anyone can see that they're happy.

They had just said their vows and Haley's dad took it right after.

She's smiling up at him like he is down at her, noses almost touching after exchanging their first kiss as husband and wife, deliriously happy that they were married despite their young age.

They were happy two years ago, they were happy two weeks ago, they were happy twenty hours ago.

And now everything is up shit creek. She's sitting in a jail cell waiting for a bail hearing after being arrested for murder.

With a heavy heart, he tucks the picture back in the wallet.

Obviously, she has been wrongly accused. Who would be devious and cunning enough to follow her out to Pleasant Hill, kill some guy and let her take the blame?

Most of all, why would they?

* * *

Alone in the dark, the walls of the holding cell bear down on her as she huddles in a corner, her back pressed against the metal bars.

The only other resident is passed out, a drunk who is snoring so loudly in his cot that the jarring sound bounces off the walls like a backfiring motorcycle.

Her cell is one of a dozen, six on each side of the long hallway. It comprises of three sides made of metal bars and one cemented wall. A narrow single bed pushed up on one side holds a flimsy torn blanket smoothed out untidily over a filthy, stained mattress.

Against the wall is a sink and a stainless steel toilet that has a leak where it is connected to the wall, leaving water to form a puddle on the floor.

The air is hot and murky due to the lack of air-conditioning, but Haley feels cold.

Being held in custody frightened her so much that she felt dizzy, nauseated and suffocated.

It led to a bout of puking her guts out, the two candy bars that Nathan bought for her from the vending machine leaving her system. She attributed the retching to both her nerves and the pregnancy.

She fights against the urge to cry when she thinks about the baby, but the enormity of her situation slowly dawns on her.

Odds are high that she will be having her baby behind bars. Chances are she'll be shackled to a delivery bed's railings during labour, and she'll only get to see her baby for a minute before–

A lump forms in her throat and when she tries to swallow it down, a hiccup passes her lips. It leads to a sob, which in turn rolls into a crying jag.

She misses Nathan, she misses freedom, she misses their apartment, however cheap it is.

It's their home, her and Nathan's. They had two glorious days of honeymoon there, they've hosted get-togethers with their family and friends there, and even though they were eventually going to move away for college, she wasn't prepared to leave.

Most of all, she misses Nathan. The love of her life, the boy she married at sixteen, both of them uncaring that they were too young to wed. They proved everyone wrong by celebrating their second year anniversary last month.

Sniffling, she draws her knees to her chest and pulls the sweatshirt over her bent legs, her hysterical cries bouncing back in the dead emptiness of the holding area.

The drunk gives out such a loud snore that it scares her more.

With her head lying between her knees, she sobs wildly and convulsively, trying to exhale and keep her wits about her as she sits there alone, waiting for night to turn into morning, waiting for this to be over.


	4. Chapter 4

Persistent knocking startles him, the top of his head connecting roughly with the roof of the car.

"Hell…"

Half asleep, Nathan wiggles his toes, trying to stretch out his stiff lower body.

The knocking continues, the shadow falling over the window blocking out some of the sunlight streaming through branches.

"Hey, buddy."

With one eye open, he rolls down the window slowly.

"Sorry. It can only go so far," he lies, peeking out of the small opening.

"You okay?" the man asks, his grey eyes roaming around the inside of the car.

Nathan can only imagine what the stranger is thinking. Clothes have been stuffed haphazardly into a large duffle bag, some creating a mess in the backseat, with hangers and shoes strewn over and under the garments.

It's logical to assume that he's homeless and living in his car.

"Yeah." Rubbing his neck, Nathan glances quickly at the dashboard.

7:27AM.

He turns back to the window, catching a glimpse of a white clerical collar.

"Sorry, um…Father…"

The man shows a toothy grin. "Reverend."

"Reverend. I didn't mean to trespass. Just stopped for the night before I head on down the road."

He grimaces inwardly at the lies he's telling to a man of God. But it's really not a lie when it's half the truth.

"I have a pot of coffee ready in my office if you want some," the Reverend offers.

And then be questioned about where he's from, what he's doing sleeping in a car and where's he's going?

"Thank you but um…I should get going."

The Reverend looks at him oddly for a moment. "Are you sure? I also have doughnuts."

His stomach growls at the thought of food, but his priority is being left alone.

"Yes, thank you. Long drive," Nathan explains with a slight smile, already turning the key for the car to start.

Miraculously, the little engine obeys quickly and he presses down on the pedal, hinting to the man to move away.

"Sorry and uh…have a nice day," he says, slowly inching the car forward.

"You, too. There's a diner just a few blocks back. They should be open by now."

"Tha–"

"Marge will take good care of you. Drive safely now, you hear?" the Reverend adds with a smile and wave.

* * *

"Coffee, black, two sugars," he says, handing a five to the diner's cashier.

Marge, her small bronze-plated badge says.

"Passing through?" the bony woman asks, popping her chewing gum.

"Yeah."

"Welcome to Pleasant Hill," she drawls.

He nods, his eyes landing on the television mounted above the register. The images change, and he visibly flinches when he sees Haley's face.

It's nighttime on screen, which means that they're rerunning the footage they took of her last night.

She looks like she's in a daze as she exits the police cruiser, disconnected from everything around her, unlike the attentive person she usually is.

She's ignoring the reporters as they shout a babel of questions at her, trying to rile her up for a reaction. He can swear he hears one of them ask her if Cornelius Dwight was her lover.

"I hope they send her to death row. Dwight was a good fella," Marge says, her pointed chin directed towards the screen.

Nausea hits him hard and his heart starts to beat painfully. His fingers at the edge of the counter turn white.

Wetting his dry mouth, Nathan asks, "Death row? Isn't that a little extreme?"

The woman sneers, pushing the register back and holding out his change. "Murderers should not be spared. Dwight was a sweetheart. Not the brightest but he was a good kid. God rest his soul."

It's absurd how quickly they all want to persecute Haley when everything that is pointing to her guilt is purely coincidental.

His wife is a sweetheart, too, but it doesn't really matter to these people.

"You all right?" she asks, eyeing him curiously.

He nods, wondering what she would do if he said he was married to the so-called murderer.

She probably has a hunting rifle behind the counter and before he could take a step back, she would be threatening to blow his brains out for being guilty by association.

"Your coffee's right this way, hon," she says, motioning him over to the other side of the counter.

"Pipin' hot."

Holding the cup between them as she passes it to him, he maintains eye contact, scanning her face for a sign of…something.

"Is there a problem?" she asks with a frown, still chewing, the scent of cinnamon floating between them.

"I just want to let you know that that's my wife you want sent to death row so badly."

Her gum pops and he swiftly swipes the cup from her hand.

"Have a nice day."

The familiar faces across the street startle him when he steps out of the diner, leading him to scald his tongue with the hot coffee.

"Oh, fuck," he mutters under his breath, running the back of his hand across his chin to wipe off the droplets of hot, dark liquid.

He gives a slight nod in acknowledgment of Lucas' raised hand in greeting.

A pickup and a saloon car drive past before Nathan crosses the street.

"What are you guys doing here?"

"Really, Nate?" Peyton asks, giving him a hug. "We came to support Haley. And you."

"It means a lot," he says sincerely as Brooke pats his back, touched that they're actually here.

"Are you okay?" his mother asks, her eyes shining with tears.

"Yeah. Just getting some coffee."

"I could use some," she says, earning agreement from everyone else.

He looks back at the diner over his shoulder, and through the glass door, he can see Marge staring intently at them, pot of coffee in hand.

"Yeah. Sure."

* * *

The chatter in the diner stops when the bell above the door pings.

All eyes are on them as they make their way to a booth in the corner.

"Not exactly the friendliest place," Mouth mutters softly as they squeeze into the booth.

"Word spreads quickly when you admit that you're married to the accused," Nathan says, looking over the rim of his cup, through the window and to the busy street.

"Where's Tim?"

His irritatingly chatty friend since they were five years old is absent. Strangely enough, Nathan misses the silly things that Tim is fond of saying, especially in the worst moments.

"On his way to camp," Brooke explains, putting the last word in air quotations. "Shari pressured his Dad into it and this morning, he was gone."

Tim struggled a lot throughout school, so much so that even Tree Hill Community College denied his application. Nathan just thinks that Tim has gone years undiagnosed with ADD, because the boy has always gotten distracted by the smallest things.

Maybe "camp" will smack his crazy stepmother out of being in denial like she's always been in.

"What can I get you?" the clipped voice asks from above them.

With a flat smile, Nathan looks up and says, "Hey, Marge. Coffee for everyone, please."

Her jaws clench, her nose flares up, and she stares down at him coldly. "Anything else?"

"Some milk would be nice," he adds.

With a pop of her cinnamon gum and a slight sneer, she turns on her heels.

Voices in the diner pick up conversation, forks and knives clattering against china.

"How sure are we that she won't poison our coffee?" Peyton asks with a soft grunt.

"Unlikely. Have you seen Brooke's claws?" he teases, earning a slight smile from Brooke.

"I really appreciate it that you guys are here," he says, looking around the booth at them.

They all nod, and his mother pats his hand comfortingly, a sad gleam in her eyes.

"I'm okay, Mom. Really."

"What did the lawyer say?" Lucas prompts. "Will she get out today?"

Sighing, Nathan rubs his forehead, feeling stressed before the day has really begun.

"Maybe, maybe not, depending on the amount they ask for bail."

He doesn't want to tell them that it could be as much as millions. Their distress at the number will probably depress him further.

"How much?" his brother then asks.

"I don't know," he answers. It's partially true; the amount could be anywhere between hundreds to those millions.

"I can't stay too long. I want to see Haley before the hearing."

Seeing her being led away like that last night was just tormenting, her sad eyes and her cries rampant in his dreams.

"We can meet you at the courthouse," Luke says.

"The lawyer said that it's going to be a closed hearing."

"What does that mean?" Peyton asks.

"No audience allowed."

Luke shakes his head, confused. "Wait. We can't be allowed in there?"

"No. It's–"

Sensing a presence close to him, Nathan glances over his shoulder from the corner of his eye.

Turning slightly in the faux leather seat, he faces two burly men who are standing near the booth, staring down at the group in a sinister way.

"Can we help you?" Nathan asks with cool curiosity.

"Heard you're related to Dwight's killer," the tall one says through the toothpick in his mouth.

"No, we're not," Nathan says flatly.

"Ain't one of you fellas married to her and whatnot?" the shorter one asks snidely, his eyes flitting over their faces.

The diner has gone considerably quiet again, with every eye looking over at the table of newcomers.

"Married, yes, but she didn't kill anyone," Nathan continues, a hint of anger behind his words.

"Dwight was my cousin," Toothpick Guy says.

"I'm sorry for your loss."

He snorts, twirling the toothpick to the other side of his mouth. "It would be best if y'all left."

"Look, man," Skills starts. "We don't want any trouble."

"You shoulda thought of that before you killed one of us," Short Guy pipes, extending his arms to point to the diner.

Nathan gets up angrily, hands clenched into fists. "My wife did _not_ kill anyone."

Toothpick Guy steps up to him, so close that their noses could touch. "That's not what I heard. Your girl get pissed at Dwight when he broke it off?"

Something dark starts taking over Nathan and he can't see anything but the man in the unkempt beard and stupid toothpick.

"Shut up," he snaps.

The older man grins nastily. "She been runnin' around on you?"

That darkness burns in his veins and nerves, reaching his eyes, the blue irises shifting to indigo.

"She get tired of the boys in Loser Hill and tramped her way to–"

Like someone else is controlling him, his clenched fist lands a swift, hard punch on the man's cheek, the sound of it like gunfire in the quiet diner.

Everyone is immediately on their feet, with Lucas stepping between Nathan and the shorter man left standing.

"Back off," Luke snarls at Short Guy.

Pushing himself to his feet, Toothpick Guy, now minus the toothpick, glares coldly at Nathan.

Blood oozes from the side of his mouth and he runs the back of his hand across his lips.

"You son of a bitch," he spits out.

"That is not a very polite thing to say, considering the woman you're insulting is right here."

He casts a look at Deb, sneering, showing several bloody teeth.

"Not bad."

"You talk a lot of shit," Nathan counters, pointing a finger at his face, still in a blind fury.

"I talk a lot of truth. Your slutty wife popped Dwight 'cause she wasn't good enough in the sa–"

That earns him a solid blow to the nose from Nathan, so much so that blood starts to trickle down his nose.

Holding a hand over his nose, Toothpick Guy yells, "_Fuck!_ You broke my nose!"

"Keep talking like that about my wife and I'll do more, asshole," Nathan snarls through clenched teeth.

Things are about to get out of hand as Short Guy aims for Lucas. A bear of a man in a greasy apron steps in the middle of the small crowd, holding his hands out to stop him.

"Hey! You want to fight, do it elsewhere, not my diner!"

They all stare down at each other, the small group from Tree Hill and the larger gathered crowd of Pleasant Hill.

Lips pursed tightly, Nathan walks rigidly around the diner's owner, his eyes not wavering from Toothpick Guy.

"This ain't over yet," the older man sneers, rivulets of blood over his upper lip.

"Bring it," Nathan bites back, eyes narrowed.

He's shaking with fury as they step onto the sidewalk, no one speaking as they follow him across the street.

"Son of a bitch," he mutters. "They've cooked up some fucked up story about Haley and– shit!"

He kicks the wheel of his car, looking away from them, rubbing a hand over his face and hair.

What the hell kind of town is this!

Gritting his teeth, he turns back to his friends, somewhat calmer. They're all looking on at him with something akin to sympathy or understanding.

"I'm sorry. I have to…"

With a nod, Lucas pats his brother's shoulder. "We'll be waiting for you."

"Not in there, I hope," Nathan says with a meager smile.

"Not even when pigs start to sing."

With a slight nod at them, he slides into his car, driving towards the police station, but not before branching off to the gas station's bathroom to clean up.

* * *

The second-floor courtroom is bright, sunshine streaming in through the big window behind the jury box.

Nathan sits alone in the spectator area behind the defense desk where Christopher is, anxiously waiting for Haley as he glances around the room.

There are only a handful of people in the courtroom, spaces already appropriately occupied by the defense and prosecuting teams, and the court personnel.

On one side of the massive judge's bench, the stenographer in her bland grey suit observes her nails, waiting to transcribe the proceedings.

The judge's right-hand man, a bored-looking court clerk in a suit jacket two times his size, sits to the other side of the bench, scrolling through his cell phone.

When the door adjacent to the jury box begins to open, all eyes are raised towards it.

Straightening, Nathan runs his hands along his jeans, his eyes transfixed on her as she is escorted in.

Haley lifts her head from the floor, scanning the room, her eyes finding Nathan's as she shuffles in.

There are dark circles under his eyes and they are slightly tinged with red. She feels awful for putting him in such a situation.

Nathan is unable to hide a smile when she looks at him.

She is wearing the short-sleeved white shirtwaist dress and leather sandals that he pulled out from the car.

He wasn't allowed to see her this morning, having to pass her clothing to an officer and being told to beat it.

The outfit makes her appear younger, paler, and she looks like a frightened child about to be whipped.

Trying hard not to cry, she is led into the courtroom by a pot-bellied bailiff in a starched uniform. He guides her to the defense table, dragging out the chair with his foot and unlocking the handcuffs.

They weren't as tight as they were yesterday but she finds herself rubbing her wrists to bring back circulation.

"Did they treat you okay?" Christopher asks from beside her, his hand lightly placed on her elbow.

"Yes," she replies, her eyes still on Nathan. She chooses not to tell him that she had to take an ice-cold shower with her handcuffs still on.

Hi, she mouths to her husband, attempting a smile as she takes her seat.

Boldly, Nathan slips past the swinging wooden barrier that separates the spectators and the lawyers.

Chin trembling, Haley wiggles around in the straight-backed chair as he purposefully walks towards her.

He drops on one knee beside her, cradling her face and covering her mouth with his for a deep kiss.

"I'm okay, baby," she tells him before he asks, their arms around each other's in a hug. "I'm okay…"

Kissing the side of her neck, he lifts his eyes so their eyes meet.

"You look really pretty," he says huskily with a touch of pain. "A really beautiful angel. Like the day we got married."

"This old thing?" she answers in a low tone, her voice unsteady.

"You're always beautiful no matter what you wear."

Some of the tension leaves her body and his words put a wry smile on her lips.

She takes his hand and brings it to her lips. "Are you okay?"

He takes a steadying breath. "Yeah."

"Where did you sleep?"

"Close by."

"Motel?"

Her eyes narrow slightly at his silence, and then they enlarge. "The car? You slept in the car? Na–"

"How could I go home when you were in some dungeon? Hell, no."

"Are you going to be sleeping in the car, too, when I'm incarcerated?"

"You're not going to be incarcerated."

"Chances are, I might. And when I am, you have to go home. You have to take care of yourself."

"And who is going to take care of you?"

"Babe, I've been thinking a lot and…and I honestly think that I'm not going home with you today."

"Will you stop talking like that?"

"I can't help it. Like Christopher said, this is a serious accusation and guilty or not, I don't think they'll let me walk out of here. Just look at that prosecutor guy. Does he seem like the sort to feel sorry for me? Apparently, I killed someone. I took a life."

"Stop it. You're making me lose my positive energy."

"I'm sorry. It was just a long night and…"

"God, I should break you out of prison. What? Why are you laughing? It's not funny, Hales."

"It's a coping mechanism, honey. Can you imagine being on the run? I'm pregnant in case you forgot."

"I haven't. Morning sickness?"

"Last night."

"Have you eaten something?"

"They gave me some bagels. Couldn't stand the coffee, though. How bad is prison food, do you think? Especially for a pregnant woman?"

"Oh my God. Where is my optimistic wife?"

"She's long gone. God, Nathan. Our baby is going to be born in prison. _Prison_."

"No. No, no, no. You are not going to have our baby in a prison, Hales."

"I am if they don't find something that will declare me innocent of this."

"Alright. Here's the deal. If they…take you away–"

"To prison."

"If they take you away, I will comb this state until I find that little fucker who was conniving enough to let you take the fall for something they were responsible for. I swear to God if I find them, I will ki–"

Her finger is on his lips. "Ah-ah. Don't even say it. I don't want you imprisoned if that person winds up dead in some ditch."

"Fine. But I'm thinking it."

Looking behind them at the wall clock above the double doors, he only has less than a minute before the judge walks in. Christopher had told him that the judge they'd pulled was really strict about time, and he ran his courtroom with precision.

"It's almost time. I'm right behind you, okay?"

"O-okay. Thanks for being here."

"Home is where you are, Haley James."

"Have you been reading my music notebook?"

"Maybe."

He leans forward and brushes a light kiss across her mouth. "I love you."

"I love you."

Just as he's stepped back into the main gallery, at exactly 9AM, the same door to the side of the bench starts to open. The bailiff stands to attention, sleep forgotten.

"All rise!" he calls in a booming voice, everyone leaping to their feet. "Court is now in session. The Honorable Judge Zachary Hutchinson presiding."

The judge strides in leisurely, his long black robe flapping as he takes the steps to the leather seat behind the bench, motioning for all to be seated.

"Please be seated."

He is a gangly, bushy-browed, white-haired man who looks to be in his sixties. He casually surveys over the courtroom at all assembled parties from his imposing, majestic throne.

"And what, pray tell, is my first case today, bailiff?" he asks like he usually does, even though he's already aware of his cases.

"Murder in the first degree," the bailiff replies. "State of North Carolina versus Haley Scott. Arraignment and bail hearing, case number NC80794."

"Is counsel for the plaintiff and the defense ready?" Judge Hutchinson asks, flipping through the file in front of him. His voice is deep and raspy, like that of one who has been smoking for a long time.

The lawyers stand, and the prosecuting attorney is the first to speak.

"Your Honor, Randy Goodwin, deputy district attorney for the prosecution."

The judge's eyes cross over to the defense table.

"Christopher Culpepper, attorney for the defense, Your Honor."

"How do you plead, Mr. Culpepper?" the judge asks.

Haley, supporting herself with her stiff hands on the tables, stands and says confidently, "Not guilty, Your Honor."

"My client pleads not guilty, Your Honor."

"I heard her, Mr. Culpepper. Does the prosecutor have a counterargument?"

Randy Goodwin, Esquire, buttons his five-hundred-dollar Italian jacket like he's about to make a memorable speech.

"Your Honor, the state has direct evidence of CCTV footage showing the accused pointing a gun at Cornelius Dwight and shooting him at close range."

"Your Honor, I don't understand how the state can immediately assume that my client is guilty just because she resembles someone in a video."

The prosecutor faces Christopher. "She was the last person to walk out of that store."

"So? Of all the women in Tree Hill and Pleasant Hill with dark blonde hair, my client happens to be the only one who could have killed Cornelius Dwight?"

"According to the video footage, yes."

"That should not be enough to accuse my client of such a heinous crime. Someone who looks like her could have walked in after my client left and shot Cornelius Dwight."

"Someone who was dressed the same as her?"

"The look is not exclusive to my client."

"The case against your client is very strong, Mr. Culpepper," the prosecutor counters. "The evidence shows that she walked out of the store, and then walked back in after approximately three and a half minutes to kill Cornelius Dwight."

She's getting tired of hearing that name. A man she met for what, two minutes, and he's now haunting her life from the grave. God rest his soul but from now on, her association with the names Cornelius and Dwight will lead her to want to break out into hives and split hairs.

"Enough gentlemen. Mr. Culpepper, does your client have an alibi for where she was at..." The judge slips on his glasses and refers to his papers. "...6:55PM last night?"

"She had car trouble."

"Did anyone see her having car trouble?"

"No, Your Honor."

The prosecutor smirks.

Christopher turns to the judge. "This is not a trial for my client, Your Honor. I'd like to set a motion for bail."

"The state objects, Your Honor," the prosecutor says.

"You mean because of the flimsy excuses you have as proof? My client is innocent. The least the state can do is investigate this matter without locking her up."

"We are not in the habit of doing criminals favours, Mr. Culpepper," the prosecutor drawls.

"And the state should not make a habit of arresting innocent people without sufficient proof, Mr. Goodwin," Christopher snaps.

"Keep it civil, gentlemen," the judge says.

"Your Honor, I'm sure that the accused has been a model citizen but she is facing heavy criminal charges," the prosecutor starts. "She's a first-time offender, and I believe that makes her a flight risk."

"My client is not a flight risk, Your Honor. Isn't that what house arrest and ankle monitors are there for, Mr. Goodwin?"

"It is of the highest importance to keep an accused murderer imprisoned rather than have her flee, Mr. Culpepper. I'm asking that the motion for setting bail be denied, Your Honor."

The judge looks at Haley, where she sits rigidly, her hands clasped together like she's in prayer, waiting for him to speak and seal her fate.

"I do see your points, gentlemen. This is a very serious and sensitive case and due to the capital murder charges, the court denies bail. The court also orders that Haley Scott be put in custody at the North Carolina Women's Correctional Centre pending investigation and a trial that will be scheduled to begin in ninety days," the judge declares, bringing the gavel down.

"Contact the clerk for details. Court is adjourned."

Blood rushes from Nathan's head. Haley utters a soft squeak, feeling faint, her hands going over her quivering mouth in shock.

"Holy shit," Nathan exclaims a bit too loudly, earning a reproachful glare from the retreating judge.

Haley is on her feet, turning to her husband. The bailiff is however quicker, his hand already holding out the cuffs, ready to slap them around her wrists.

"Give them a minute," Christopher says pushing Haley slightly behind him.

Nathan and Haley hold their breath, hoping they'll get a minute to say goodbye.

"It is standard procedure to take a prisoner back to holding before transfer."

"One minute. Please," the young lawyer pleads earnestly.

"One minute," the bailiff grunts, turning away.

"Thank you," the three say simultaneously.

With the bar between them, Haley trails her fingers down the side of Nathan's stricken face, his shock starting to wear off.

"B-babe, it's okay…"

He blinks slowly, his hands holding hers in place on his face, thumbs running along the back of her wrists.

"No, it's not. They're taking you to…oh my God…"

"I'll b-be fine," she lies, her voice trembling, eyes flooded with tears.

She's shaking as she throws her arms around his neck for a fierce hug, burying her head in his chest.

"I – I'll be okay…"

Losing control, she breaks down and starts to cry, heavy sobs that are shaking her body and tearing at her soul.

Tears form in his eyes, every part of him aching as he holds his wife tightly, a feral desire to grab her and flee in a dead run to the ends of the earth rising in him.

Haley sinks into his warmth, inhaling the intoxicating woodsy scent of his cologne, saving it in her memory for the months she won't be able to touch him again. She can feel his heart beating, in rhythm with hers, fast and loud.

Tilting her face back, she locks lips with his for an ardent kiss.

"It's okay," she repeats softly, letting out a strangled sob. "I…I'll be okay."

Fear is written on her face. He can feel his body growing cold, like a sudden ice storm is sweeping through his veins.

"I love you," he whispers, his throat tight, forehead pressed against hers.

"I-I love you." Her heart breaks for him, it breaks for them. She wishes she could sleep and wake up when this nightmare is over.

"I love you so much. Don't you ever forget that."

"Never," she says, tears running down her face as she crushes her mouth to his for another lingering kiss.

Their eyes are unable to tear away from each other's, Nathan tenderly stroking her face, leaning down to kiss her one more time every second.

"Time to go," the bailiff orders impatiently from behind them.

"Please…wait…" Nathan chokes, not wanting to let go, his fingers trembling as they are tangled in Haley's hair.

The bailiff ignores him, pulling her arms behind her back and snapping a silver cuff over her wrist. The courtroom is silent as he binds her hands together behind her.

As she is viciously turned away from him, she looks over her shoulder, the distance between them seeming to grow longer as her feet move unwillingly.

"I love you, honey," she says with a weak smile and a tearful voice. "I'm so so s-sorry…"

He just shakes his head at her, his heart stopping for more than a beat as she is taken away.

He will never forget that moment for as long as he lives. Seeing her looking shaken and scared to death, her face in silent anguish, tears streaming down her face as she is dragged out of the courtroom.

Haley is crying hysterically as the side door closes behind them. She is leaving behind the man she loves with every beat of her heart.

The scary-looking bailiff escorts her out of the courtroom the same way she came in, through the back corridors of the courthouse.

"Cut it out," the man barks as they wait for the elevator. "Nobody gives a shit about you where you're going."


	5. Chapter 5

Stunned and devastated, Nathan slumps down on the seat long after she's gone, resting his elbows on his knees, fingers digging through his hair.

He can hardly breathe.

"Oh my God…" he mumbles weakly. "They're taking her to prison and she–"

His body is aching. From the roots of his hair to his toes, it hurts.

"I should rob a bank. Or-or do a drug run for some kingpin. Oh my God…get enough money and break her out of there…"

Christopher realizes that Nathan is talking more out loud to himself than to him.

"I'm sorry," he says.

"What do we do now?" Nathan asks, his voice breaking with every word.

"The police investigate and with some proof, we get her freed."

"That's it?"

"That's it."

"At this point, I don't trust the cops to do anything about this."

"It's all we've got now, Nathan. Go home and I'll call you when something comes up."

He about cracks up with laughter, laughter that will probably lead him to inconsolable tears.

Nathan massages his burning eyes. "Go home? Go home and do what exactly?"

He's damned if he's going to flop down on the couch and turn into a sitting duck, doing nothing while Haley rots in prison for a crime she did not commit.

"How soon can I see her?"

"Not today, I'm afraid. There's paperwork involved that has to be completed before you're allowed to see her. We can work on that tomorrow."

Christopher picks up his sleek briefcase and shoves some papers in it before letting it fall shut with a muffled click.

"I have a courthouse hearing in Tree Hill but I'll call you, alright?"

"Th-thank you."

With a quick nod and a sympathetic smile, Christopher exits the courtroom, leaving Nathan alone.

* * *

"Nate."

They find him sitting numbly on the wooden bench, staring at the floor, fiddling with his wedding ring.

"Nathan."

Nathan raises his head, looking into the eyes of his brother.

"They took her," he says wretchedly.

The lawyer told them what happened.

"She…she's been taken to prison," he stammers in a low whisper, feeling breathless all over again.

Even though Christopher had warned them that bail would be denied, he was still unprepared for it.

He can't imagine what Haley must be feeling.

They sit on the bench behind, unable to offer any words of cheer or comfort to the distressed husband.

Nathan cusses loudly before sliding the ring back on his finger.

"I have to get her out of there," he says with a hard edge to his voice, standing abruptly.

"Where are you going?" his mother asks as they watch him leave.

With long strides, he marches out of the courtroom and down the bustling corridor.

It takes him a moment to realize that the hounds are waiting outside the courthouse.

"Fuck."

Word was out about the bail hearing and the steps are filled with reporters.

It's clear who they are waiting for.

"_Nathan! Over here!"_

"_Where is your wife?"_

"_How much did the judge state for bail?"_

"_Will she be put on trial?"_

"_There are rumours that she was having an affair. Is this true?"_

Gritting his teeth, he ignores them, taking the steps two at a time to reach his car.

The hounds are fast on his heels, yelling one obscene question after another about him and Haley.

He can't let it slide.

Halting on the bottom step, he looks up at them, the hungry sharks circling fresh meat.

To them, this is just another story, a juicy story before another one comes along, a juicy story that they can suck dry for as long as it's newsworthy.

To him, it's his world ripped apart.

His eyes fall on a TV camera and he says with conviction, "My wife did not kill anyone. She's innocent."

Turning away from them, he slides into his car and peels out of there.

* * *

The courthouse and the police station are not that far apart.

Nathan heads straight for Detective Collins, ignoring the loud protests from the police officer at the front desk.

The detective is sharing a laugh with his cop buddies but Nathan doesn't care about etiquette.

"She didn't do it," he says when he stops a few feet from them, fingers curling tightly into fists.

They all turn to face him.

"She didn't do it," he repeats, his gaze steely on Detective Collins.

"Your wife is guilty, son."

"What about the gun? The one she so-used to so-kill him?" he asks snidely.

"The murder weapon? Her prints were all over it."

Nathan stiffens for a moment before answering, "She doesn't own a gun. She can't even shoot."

The detective shrugs slightly. "Yeah. Well. She got her hands on one and used it to kill a man."

"Where did you find it?"

His jaws are aching from clamping his teeth together.

"At the shooting range."

"She was at the range earlier that day."

"That doesn't prove anything."

"Exactly. It can't prove that she did it, either. Is there a record to show that she walked out of the range with the gun?"

"According to their records, she returned it. B–"

"See? She returned it!"

"But, it could have been just for show to make it seem like she returned it. She probably went back for it."

"Snuck it out under their noses?"

"Criminals are crafty, Mr. Scott. Very crafty."

He loses it.

"I don't believe this shit! She's been taken to prison for something she didn't do! _Prison!_"

Why are they all treating prison so callously like it's summer camp?

"Stop yelling, Mr. Scott. Have you forgotten that you're surrounded by police officers who are licensed to use their tasers?"

His eyes wander over to the three men behind the detective.

"All I want from you is to prove that my wife is innocent."

The cops just watch him wordlessly, and out of desperation, Nathan blurts, "The reporters accosted me and they are making up all sorts of accusations about Haley! She never knew that guy and she had no reason to hurt him."

Detective Collins regards him keenly before motioning him over to his desk.

Hands on hips, he leans in and says, "Listen, kid. There's a lot pointing to your wife's guilt. The–"

"None of it is true."

"How do you explain the prints on the gun? And the video?"

Nathan shakes his head, wanting to wail at all the coincidences.

"I-I can't. None of it makes sense. But she's innocent."

"Does she have enemies? Anyone who would want to do something so elaborate?"

"No. She has very few friends so she doesn't really go out of her way to make enemies."

Softly, he says, "I-I know my wife, Detective. She didn't do it. You…you have to help her."

She's everything to him.

He draws out a long breath, feeling like going mad from the helplessness. "Please."

The detective looks around the room quickly. The evidence is clear but the kid is quite convinced that his wife is innocent.

"I'll see what I can do." Whipping out a card from his breast pocket, he passes it to Nathan.

"Thank you."

Taking a biro from the pen-holder and pulling off the top leaf of the luminous green post-it, Nathan scribbles down his number, giving it to the detective.

"Please call me when you find anything."

The detective nods briskly, taking the paper and sticking it over some documents.

"Go home, kid."

* * *

North Carolina Women's Correctional Centre is a level three prison.

Located in rural Greensboro, the prison has close to nine hundred women behind bars, women who have been involved in various crimes, from the least damning to the most grievous.

Over those high walls, some have been convicted of murder, others have staged or participated in armed robberies, many have been charged with drug dealing, and most have been involved in petty and violent crimes.

The old faded-white bus trudges down the narrow road off the highway, bouncing its cargo of fourteen prisoners and three armed officers.

Prisoners are spread out in the bus, each one in their own seat ignoring the rest. Some are returning while some are new initiates to the world behind the walls.

Haley sits stiffly in her seat in the middle of the bus, staring out the window, her eyes and face feeling puffy and swollen. Her hands are clutched together so tightly that her knuckles are as white as her dress.

In less than two hours after her bail hearing, she had been herded off to the bus, her future shaping up nicely as an ex-con.

Her heart hammers raucously as it has since yesterday, the urge to cry so strong that a solitary tear slips its way slowly down her pale cheek.

The prison compound is surrounded by a towering concrete wall, shards of glass jutting out from its top, with a thick alarming roll of electric wire topping off the safety measures. If the electric shock won't kill an escapee, the glass will probably do some serious damage.

The bus stops at the steel black gate, and in her faraway thoughts, she hears the bus driver and the gate guard share a laugh. She wonders if they're mocking them for being stupid enough to get caught in whatever illegal activity they were involved in.

When the prison comes into view, it's the last thing she expected. She wants to ask if they're going to college or prison.

Stone buildings dot the landscape, and the setting is so orderly and serene that it looks worthy enough to be used in a postcard.

She counts seven of them, the largest a long and large two-story, all of them surrounded by acres of lush green grass, so green that it looks unreal.

Concrete pavers on some parts of the grass provide walkways that connect between the buildings.

The highest building is three-stories high, a red brick administration structure secluded from all the rest, bordered by small trees, tall ferns and neat flowerbeds.

Structures are separated by chain link fence, and one of these is a wide concrete building that is the size of an industrial warehouse. Smoke billows from the rooftop, and she assumes that that's the kitchen and dining hall.

In one end is an open recreational yard. It is big enough to have a basketball court, a volleyball court, a few bleachers, a weight area with benches and exercise equipment, and what looks like a small running track. Two dozen concrete benches are scattered around the yard, inmates conversing and laughing like it's such a normal thing to socialize while armed guards are watching their every move.

Hundreds of inmates dressed in different shades of orange are milling around the yard. Some are too engrossed in their sports to pay any attention to the bus while some have their fingers hooked into the chain link fence, watching the new inmates with interest.

A higher, chain link perimeter fence separates the courtyard with a smaller one that only has a handful of bored-looking inmates, who are dressed in white and soaking in the summer sun.

"OUT, MINIONS!" one of the correctional officers yells as he exits the bus.

Haley is the last to leave, held in place in her seat by quavering nerves. Her limbs are trembling with every footstep, and she almost falls facedown in the dirt walking down the steps.

Whistles and catcalls come from the yard, and some of the new inmates look over their shoulders curiously. Others ignore them, clenching their jaws tightly in fear.

Haley, in the second group, blinks against the sunlight as she moves slowly to the end of the line.

Guard towers stand in two opposite corners of the perimeter wall. The guards there probably have their fingers on the trigger, ready to shoot. Just like that, it would take less than a second for her to die if she attempted to run.

"IN A LINE, INMATES!" a gruff voice bellows.

Their wrists cuffed in front of them, they stand stiffly in a straight line.

"Welcome to your new home, ladies. My name is Warden Rosenthal but you can call me Warden. Not boss or ma'am, not miss or madam, but Warden."

Her black eyes drift over each face as if etching them to her memory.

The Warden is a heavily built woman with massive arms that resemble those of a professional weightlifter. Her thick brown hair is tied in a chignon at the top of her head. It is quite comical, probably used as a prop for a joke amongst prisoners, but the new inmates dare not laugh or stare at the monstrosity for too long.

"In here, we have inmates in all custody levels. Some of you are here for short sentencing and some of you are here for longer. During your stay with us, some of you may end up like them…"

She juts her chin to the courtyard where the few bored-looking prisoners are.

"…under mental health supervision."

The horror has begun.

* * *

"SCOTT! IN HERE!" the burly female guard shouts, scribbling on her clipboard.

Feeling feverish from the icy shower with the de-lousing agent they had to take, Haley steps away from the shortened line and into one of the last cells, identical to every one they've passed in the seemingly endless rows of cells in the unit.

It's a windowless eight by eight, occupied by two steel bunk beds built into the wall. The top bunk is neatly made, a single-page calendar stuck on the wall above it, while the bottom bunk only has a thin striped mattress.

There's a concrete table and a matching seat, and pushed against the wall of the table is a small pile of books, a yellow pencil broken into two and a frayed notebook.

This is her new home.

In her hands, she holds her newest possessions; the inmate manual, an extra pair of the orange khaki scrubs, two thin cotton bed sheets, a blanket, pillow and a rectangular bar of plain soap, two rolls of toilet paper, toothbrush, toothpaste, a stiff towel and a washcloth.

Folded neatly between the blanket and the pillow are three sets of cheap bras and underwear, two white t-shirts and four pairs of tube socks.

The navy canvas slip-ons feel tight on her feet and she hopes that in due time they will loosen up.

She sits on the thin mattress on the bottom bunk, dropping her things beside her, feeling alone in the alien world.

Everything about this place is horrifying.

After a ten-minute orientation from the Warden about all the intolerable things they would get punished for, they were led into a large room for inspection.

They were instructed to strip to their underwear, and that didn't last long because they were then told to shed everything before a brusque doctor did a thorough cavity search.

Haley instantly felt violated but there was nothing she could do.

She also had to fill out a questionnaire declaring any medical conditions that she suffered. She hopes that being pregnant will at least grant her some leeway when it comes to medical care.

Leaning on the cold concrete wall, she pulls her knees to her chest, wrapping her arms around them, her eyes feeling hot as they start to water.

She misses her husband like crazy.

She wonders if it's too soon to ask to make a phone call.

* * *

The cell phone rings just as they leave downtown Pleasant Hill.

Tired and in no mood of talking, Nathan thinks of ignoring it, wanting to wallow in his misery.

Lucas, behind the Mazda's wheel, shoots him a quick glance before focusing back on the road.

"It could be important, Nate."

Slowly, Nathan takes the cell phone out of his shirt pocket, closing his eyes and leaning on the headrest.

The exhaustion is intoxicating.

"Hello."

"_Do you accept the charges for the following call?"_ the operator asks in such a high-pitched voice that it hurts his brain.

"What?"

"_Do you a–"_

"Yeah. Whatever."

After some static noise, the soft voice comes on over the line.

"_Hi."_

Were he not in a car, he would have fallen off his seat and cracked his skull. He rebukes himself for thinking of ignoring it.

Instantly alert and sitting up straighter, a smile creeps up in his voice.

"Hi."

"_I'm alive,"_ she giggles nervously.

"Are you okay?" he asks, so tenderly that Lucas deduces Haley is the one calling. His brother never gets like that with anyone else.

"_Yeah. It's not such a bad place."_

"What, are they making you crème brûlée?" he croaks.

Her laugh is husky, lingering over the line for a moment.

She sighs deeply._ "Are you okay, baby?"_

It's just like her to ask about him when she's the one calling from prison.

His eyes are stinging as he turns to look out the window. The sky is clear and bright but it doesn't really matter to him because he feels dark and gloomy.

"I'm…I'm fine. Just miss you."

"_I miss you, too. W-we can pretend that I'm in rehab,"_ she says lightly, but under it Nathan can hear how thick her voice is with emotion.

"How many days sober?" he throws back, his words cracking.

"_I – I'm still in denial so I have a long way t-to go,"_ she snivels.

He nearly cries when he hears her sob.

"I'm going to come and see you, okay? I promise," he says, fingers clenched tightly around the phone.

She sniffles again, replying, _"O-okay."_

Lucas is pressing down on the brakes, pulling the car over slowly to the side of the road.

"Um, Luke's with me. You want to talk to him?"

"_Yeah."_

Killing the engine, Lucas takes a quick calming breath before lifting the phone to his ear.

"Hey, buddy," he says with forced cheer. "I hope orange looks good on you. . . .no trouble. . . .yeah, I'm fine. . . .uh huh. . . .it's going to be okay, Hales. . . .yeah. . . .I will. . . .Bye."

He hands the phone back to Nathan, who is looking absolutely flabbergasted, fingers dug into his hair.

"They let you make a phone call?" he asks, his leg bopping nervously.

"_I was only given two minutes but I think I should be able to talk for longer next time. Where are you?" _

He's just noticing that they're driving down the highway.

"On the road back to Tree Hill."

"_Good. Oh, before I forget, there's some cheesecake in the fridge. Don't let it go bad." _

He almost bursts out laughing. She's talking to him about cheesecake?

"_I don't want you to worry about me, Nathan, okay?"_

"Highly unlikely," he says softly.

"_Worry less, then. Go to work, play basketball, hang out with the guys and before you know it, this will be over."_

He knows she's putting on a brave front, a brave front for his sake.

"Go to work?"

She chuckles._ "I'm going to need a roof over my head when I get out."_

There's shouting over the line and before he can ask what's happening, she says quickly, _"Honey, my minutes are up. I'll call you when I can! I love you!"_

"I lo–"

The dial tone beeps repeatedly in his ear.

"–ve you, too," he finishes softly, dropping the phone from his ear.

Breathing out deeply, he leans his elbow on the open window, rubbing his eyes.

"She's a tough cookie, Nate."

"She's a tough cookie in a really shitty place full of tougher cookies, Luke."

"When do you get to see her?"

He shakes his head, whirling his gaze to his brother. "I don't know. Soon, I hope."

A piece of yellow ribbon swaying in the breeze catches his eye.

Crime scene tape.

He completely missed it last night but in broad daylight, it's quite obvious.

Someone died there, someone was killed in that store and his wife got the fall for it.

It just makes him the more enraged at how insane and unfair it is.

"Three months," he mutters before turning his eyes back to Lucas.

"She'll be in that shitty place for three whole months for something someone else did."

* * *

All the prison scenes on TV cannot do justice to the real thing.

On the outside, the prison may look like a polytechnic but on the inside, everything is a reminder of what the ones behind bars gave up.

The cold cement floors, the harsh fluorescent lighting, the windowless cells, and worst of all, the intimidating guards; they are all constant reminders that a wrong turn led to the barter of freedom.

The sun that they enjoy for only two hours a day is a symbol of what else is out there. It's a reminder that there are other places where the same sun is shining, places where people can bask under it for as long as they want, places where people are not told when to eat, sleep and speak.

Things are different here, starting with her identity.

In large print on the back of her shirt are the numbers 808467.

To the guards and the administrators, she is not Haley or Mrs. Scott or Haley Scott. She is 808467 to them. Or just Scott.

Watching the other inmates makes Haley feel like a complete outcast.

For the fifteen minutes she's been out in the yard, she's been standing alone along the fence of the recreation yard, her eyes shifting everywhere in fear.

Hearing Nathan's voice almost made her bawl and she wanted to scream into the phone for him to come back and get her. But she couldn't; she couldn't pile that on him.

She's trying to be brave and failing miserably. She can't fake being a badass because she knows she looks like a trapped, scared, drenched kitten.

The bright orange attire is not helping her cause, either. Where most of the inmates' clothing has faded into lighter shades of orange, hers just screams "fresh meat".

Everyone seems to be paired up, sitting or loitering in small cliques, even the newbies she came in with.

She doesn't understand how they were able to fit in so quickly. Did they know someone on the inside, someone to take them under their wing and show them the ropes?

Perhaps her tough girl image would improve if she had a tattoo on her face, or if she wasn't shaking so much that she could feel her bones rattling.

A hardened criminal she is not.

The reek of lingering cigarette smoke reaches Haley before she hears the deep voice.

It makes her dizzy and she has an urge to retch.

"What's a pretty girl like you standing by herself all the way over here?"

She's panicking. It was her intention to keep to herself, not bother anyone, but she's been bothered first. What happens in such a scenario?

Should she ignore or respond? If she ignores them, she'll be thought of as a stuck-up bitch who needs to be taught a lesson, and they'll make her life miserable.

If she responds, they'll think she's eager and weak, using that fear against her to get her to do whatever they want, all in a ruse to protect her.

She wishes she were invisible.

She wishes she could pretend that she didn't hear and continue staring at nothing, or she can respond and save herself from having a giant bull's eye on her back.

Coming to a decision, Haley looks up after what feels like forever.

The woman is neither muscular nor skinny, in her thirties, taller than Haley by at least six inches, tanned, with a dimple on her chin.

Her dark grey eyes are large, between them a slightly pointed nose with a small mole beside the left nostril. Her blonde hair is cropped short, thin eyebrows highlight the size of her eyes, full lips that are evenly shaped and resemble a pout.

Instead of the standard orange prison shirt, she's wearing a vest, her toned arms noticeable against the white vest.

There is an air of self-confidence and authority about her, like she's an inmate that no one dares mess with.

Arms folded over her chest, the woman leans slightly on the chain link fence, looking Haley up and down like in appreciation.

"You're new," she states, dark eyes boring into Haley's.

Haley just nods.

"You don't need to look so scared. I'm not going to hurt you."

Unsure of what to say, Haley looks away, the fright worsening.

"I'm Jean Big but I'll let you call me Jean."

"Jean Big?"

There's a slight quiver in Haley's voice as she struggles to control her panic.

Jean Big's pouty lips curve up slightly on the side. "I'm bigger than Jean Small. I assume you have a name?"

Jean Big may be friendly, but that makes Haley wary rather than calm.

"Haley."

She wonders what her nickname will be if there's another Haley in the prison.

"Haley. You got a second name?"

"Um…Scott."

"Haley Scott. Pretty name for a pretty girl."

"You got a second name?" she counters.

Jean Big lets out a roaring laugh, which puzzles Haley as to what could be so funny about such a simple question.

Stretching an arm over her head and jabbing her fingers in the gaps of the chain link, the scent of cigarette smoke wafts with Jean Big's movements.

"I like you already. Outside these walls, I go by Jean Sponberg."

And then she leans in conspiratorially. "But don't spread that around."

She may be naïve when it comes to being a prisoner but there are things she's conscious about. She is not oblivious to Jean Big's keen interest.

"Who are you bunking with?" Jean Big asks.

"I-I don't know," Haley replies with a small shrug, looking over Jean Big's spiky hair.

"What cell are you in?"

"Twenty-four."

Jean Big gives her that fraction smile again. "Really? I'm right across. Twelve."

She wonders if it's really a good thing being easily accessible to Jean Big's attention.

"Selena's your bunkie. She's good people."

She points her chin across the yard. Following her line of vision, Haley spots a cluster of older women playing a rowdy game of cards.

"Who is Selena?" she asks, her gaze darting across the women's faces, as if one of them has the name tattooed on her forehead.

Before Jean Big can respond, a booming voice comes on over the crackling PA system.

"ROLL CALL! ROLL CALL! ROLL CALL!"

Jean Big pushes away from the fence, moving towards a sizeable group of waiting women a few feet away that Haley had missed.

"See you later, pretty Haley," she says with a wink.

On the other side of the yard, the inmates start getting in line to return to the cells.

Some look at Haley with curiosity as she walks quickly towards the line up, before leaning in to their friends and whispering.

She feels embarrassed, a new girl who is the subject of scrutiny and gossip, a new girl who seems to have caught the attention of someone called Jean Big.

Has she attracted an admirer?


	6. Chapter 6

Exhausted, Nathan drops down on the couch, switching on the TV just to kill the silence.

The apartment is back to order after he cleared up the shambles the cops had left it in last night.

Never in a million years did he ever see something like this coming.

He'd never thought that he would be visiting Haley in prison. Unless she completely lost her mind and became a drug addict who constantly needed to be bailed out and picked up.

Yet, Haley was dragged out of the apartment in handcuffs, and thrown behind bars after bail was denied.

There is no doubt in his mind that she's innocent, but he is at a loss on how to prove it and get her freed.

The detective implied that he would look into it, but who knows how long receiving a phone call from him will take?

In three months, there will be a trial. If there's nothing to prove her innocence between now and then, his pregnant wife will be tried for first-degree murder.

Sighing, he rests back on the sofa, trying to focus on the screen instead of giving in to his blaring thoughts.

It's impossible to stop thinking.

He really hopes that Haley is okay. She can handle herself but hell, anyone would be spooked out in a place where everything is unknown and unfamiliar.

It dawns on him, like a light bulb coming on instantly, that Haley's parents don't know yet.

With a groan, he leans his elbow on the armrest, trying to imagine how that conversation would go, telling them that their youngest child is behind bars.

_Can we speak to Haley?_

_Oh, you didn't hear? Have I got a surprise for you! She's in prison._

Sighing again, he stares at the coffee table, the booklets laid out on it in his vision.

One of them is for him from Duke, and the other three are for Haley from Duke, Kenyon and Stanford.

It's incredible that just two days ago they were formulating a plan on how to pay for Haley's tuition, clueless that their lives would take a turn for the worse.

His wife is a brainiac, a girl who always seemed hungry to learn whenever she picked up a book. He, on the other hand, got hives whenever he stepped into class.

Out of the three universities, she picked Duke, even though she wasn't getting a full ride from them.

It didn't matter where she studied, she'd told him, just as long as he was there.

She was giving up her lifelong dream of studying at Stanford to follow him to Duke where he could fulfill his lifelong dream of playing for the Blue Devils.

Giving up her dream for his. Christ, his wife is an incredible woman.

Grabbing the booklets, Nathan puts them away in the shelf beneath the table.

Right now with things the way they are, the last thing he wants to see is Photoshopped images of elated college students with captions bragging about their alma mater.

Absentmindedly, he lifts the floppy piece on the armrest that was torn when that meathead cop was doing a so-called legal search.

He should fix that. It may be a worn couch but it's still their couch.

After calling the James' with the news that their daughter is in prison.

* * *

Haley is flipping through the inmate booklet after reading it cover to cover when she finally meets her cellmate. She seemed to be missing during roll call.

In fine print, there are aspects about the prison that differ with the fictional ones she's seen and read about.

Perhaps it's because many of those she's encountered in her imagination were for male prisoners, not female.

At the North Carolina Women's Correctional Centre, NCCo as it's commonly called, there are no toilet bowls or sinks in the cells. Instead, the bathrooms are located at the far end of the two floors in the cell unit.

Due to this bathroom arrangement, cells are opened after the nighttime roll call.

A flicker of relief travels through her. It's a small victory to be able to have free access to the bathroom at any time of night.

The smallest ounce of privacy is a big deal in this place, and she'll take pleasure in those small things while she's locked up.

"You my new bunkie?"

Dropping the booklet, Haley stands, looking into the brown eyes of a slender, middle-aged Latino woman.

There are streaks of grey in her otherwise black hair, and her eyes assess Haley like an eagle scouting its prey.

"Yeah. I'm Haley."

"Selena. And before you start making assumptions, I'm Puerto Rican."

Haley feels her ears warming up, and she takes a step back as Selena jumps up to her bunk.

"Are you sure you don't mind me taking the bottom bunk?"

Eyes narrowed, Selena snaps, "What, because I'm old?"

The answer leaves her lips before she can think twice.

"Well, yeah."

Realizing what she's said, Haley clamps her mouth shut, berating herself for getting on her cell mate's bad side within a minute of meeting.

Selena bursts out laughing, sitting cross-legged on her bunk.

"I've been here too long to take offense about my age."

Breathing out a sigh of relief, Haley asks, "How long have you been here?"

Selena tsks quietly, leaning on the wall. "Seven years. How long are you here for?"

"Three months."

"Before trial or full release?"

"Trial."

Cocking her head to the side, Selena asks, "What did you do?"

It's the first time anyone has asked her that question and she doesn't know how to respond.

On one hand, the truth is that she did nothing but on the other, the reality is that something led her to cell twenty-four in NCCo.

"Apparently I killed someone," Haley says with dry humour.

"I'm innocent," she adds quickly.

Selena gives her a crooked smile before turning away.

"What did you do?" Haley counters curiously.

Without looking at her, Selena says, "Don't be rude. You never ask a con why they're locked up."

"B–"

"So you met Jean Big?" Selena continues, her gaze focused across the unit.

Looking her way, Haley finds Jean Big leaning on the door of her cell, head tilted as she listens to her companion, her dark eyes however locked on Haley.

Haley averts her eyes, wanting to disappear from the penetrating gaze.

"Um…yeah."

Selena chuckles, facing Haley to look her up and down.

A smirk crosses her lips.

"You're just her type."

"W-what?" Haley chokes out.

"She likes 'em young and green, and then tosses them like they're last year's hamburger patty."

Selena's words make her want to hyperventilate. She doesn't want to be anyone's type in prison.

"Eighteen?"

Haley nods weakly.

"You unlucky green leaf," her cellmate laughs while shaking her head, the crinkles around her eyes more pronounced.

Haley is certain that Selena is enjoying this. She's either toying with her or telling the gospel truth.

Mid-laughter, Selena raises an eyebrow. "Unless you like the ladies, too?"

"No! I'm…I'm married," Haley sputters, an icy chill snaking down her back.

"That doesn't matter in here. Prison changes people."

Afraid she may buckle to her knees where she stands, Haley sinks slowly onto her bunk, staring at the wall before her.

Being brave is so hard to do when someone reminds her of what she's in for.

Even without looking, she can feel Jean Big's stare from across all the space in their telephone-pole designed cell unit. It's like she wants to project something telepathically to her.

It's so unnerving and frightening, especially because there's no place to hide. There's no escape because she's stuck for three months.

The same loud booming voice from the PA makes her jump out of her skin.

"CHOW TIME! CHOW TIME!"

Selena drops to the floor, her head tilted to the side as she looks down at Haley.

"Hope you like cabbage," she grins.

* * *

They could kill her.

Easily.

The melted edge of a toothbrush could be used to repeatedly stab her. A bar of soap, or several, stashed in a sock could be used to clobber her to death.

She's pregnant, and should anything happen to her, it endangers two people.

Rolling to his back, Nathan kicks away the covers, tense, scared, furious and frustrated.

The scent of lime and apple shampoo on her pillow is unmistakable, floating around him like it's taunting him about his wife's absence.

Arms behind his head, he glances over at the alarm clock, the red numbers changing to read 12:38AM.

Reaching for the bedside table, he pulls at the edge of a small piece of paper sticking out of his wallet.

On it is the address of a place in Pleasant Hill, a place where Cornelius Dwight called home.

He sneakily memorized it when Detective Collins led him to his desk, hurriedly scribbling it down when he got to the car. It was begging to be memorized, anyway, that file just gaping open for all eyes to see.

The address is the only thing he has but it's a start.

He tucks the paper under his cell phone, flipping his pillow over for the cooler side.

Staring at the wall, worrying about Haley, his body slowly begins to relax, his eyes drooping as he sinks into the nothingness found in sleep.

He is awakened with a start by the sound of breaking glass. Sleepily, he looks around the bedroom before focusing on the open door.

Swinging his legs over the side of the bed, he sits there for a minute, listening, waiting to hear it again.

Ripping through the silence is the sound of something striking against a hard surface.

Jumping to his feet, his heart starts pounding madly as he grabs the grey baseball bat resting in a corner of the bedroom.

Whatever it is, it's either in the apartment or close by.

He strides carefully down the hallway, zooming in on the front door, watching and listening.

A slight wind wafting into the living room makes him stop.

The window that looks into the kitchen has been broken, a rock lying amongst shattered glass, the sheer curtain over the window billowing in the breeze.

Just then, there is a loud smack on the front door.

Sneaking quietly, he unlocks the door slowly, yanking it open and flipping on the living room lights.

There is commotion in the yard from deep voices arguing, and then the sound of feet on the move.

Darting to the balcony, Nathan sees two figures running down the parking lot towards a waiting car.

"What the…HEY!"

One of them stops, hurling something towards him, and before Nathan can react, it lands on his chest with a wet whack.

A piercing cackle then tears through the apartment complex before the car starts up.

It screeches out of the lot, more cackles carrying in the night.

"_Woohoo!"_

Angrily, Nathan swings the bat at the air.

"Shit!"

It was too dark to see the culprits or the car's plates but he caught a flash of red as it disappeared.

When the light over his neighbour's front door comes on, Nathan turns back towards the apartment.

He's stopped in his tracks at the sight of the mess dripping down the door.

Overripe tomatoes, soggy vegetables, gooey mayonnaise and rotten eggs are smeared across the door.

Pursing his mouth tightly, he glances down at his t-shirt.

Spattered in the middle of the white shirt is something foul-smelling and noisome. A rotten egg.

He wants to throw up.

They pelted his house with garbage like some juvenile delinquents.

Furious, he swings the bat again, yelling into the night, "FUCK YOU!"

* * *

She can't find any sleep.

Lying motionless in the dark, her eyes dart around the small room.

Covers up to her chin, tears of desperation and dismay sting her eyes. She's in a strange place on a very strange and uncomfortable bed.

A strange place where dinner is served before evening sets in, a place where that dinner is of suspicious concoctions that made her want to throw up.

It doesn't help that she's pregnant; her baby is depending on her for sustenance and if she throws up every time she eats in the prison dining hall, things will get complicated.

Hands on her stomach, she rolls over to her side, a tear trickling down the side of her face.

"Don't you dare start crying," Selena grumbles from the top bunk.

Haley blinks furiously, drawing out a shuddering breath.

"I'm – I'm not…"

Selena grunts, and Haley hears her turn over in her cot.

"Here's a tip: lose your marbles and get transferred to the mental wing. The drugs they give you will knock you out fast. And I hear they have the best desserts there."

Being under mental supervision and getting pumped full of drugs while in prison is not something Haley considers an upgrade.

In a husky whisper, she dares to ask, "Why…why are you here, Selena?"

Her cell mate doesn't answer immediately, but eventually she mumbles, "Apparently I killed my philandering boyfriend with sheep shears."

How now is a girl supposed to sleep when she hears something like that?


	7. Chapter 7

The anger comes instantly as he sits up on the couch, looking past the closed curtains.

It's still dark out.

The wiggling doorknob has woken him up, after what feels like five minutes of sleep.

Grabbing the baseball bat lying on the carpeted floor beside the couch, he stands gingerly, tiptoeing towards the door.

Slowly, he turns the deadbolt and slides the chain off before flinging the door open, ready to whack the head off of some egging dumbshit.

"JESUS! WHOA! Whoa, whoa, whoa! It's just me!"

Lucas has his hands up like in surrender, held protectively over his face from the attack.

"It's me, Nate!"

Nathan drops the bat, looking out behind his brother for signs of trouble.

He lets out a heavy breath, turning back into the apartment.

"What the shit, Luke!? You forgot how to knock?"

"I did! Didn't you hear?"

"No," he says, leaning the bat next to the door and flopping down on the couch.

"You look like hell, man," Lucas says as he shuts the door.

"Long night," he grumbles, stretching out, an arm over his eyes.

He can't remember falling asleep after wiping the door down, rinsing his shirt and sweeping up the broken glass. He must have dozed off while listening for troublemaking vermin.

"Is that puke on your face?" Luke grimaces.

Nathan reaches for his face, running a thumb along his cheek.

"Pleasant Hill psychos."

"What?"

"I'll explain later." Yawning, he drops his arm to look up at his brother.

"What's up?"

Lucas shakes his head, shrugging out of his jacket. "Nothing. Couldn't sleep."

"And you chose me over Peyton to keep you company. How sweet."

Lucas slaps the back of his head lightly. "Move over."

Getting up, Nathan pads towards the small hallway. "What time is it?"

"Almost six," Luke answers, switching on the TV. "Want to play a game?"

"Nah. I'm going to crash for a while before work."

"You're going to work?"

"Yeah. Gotta feed my pr– wife when she returns."

* * *

"Do you have a size seven?"

Hauling his mind back to focusing on where he is, Nathan blinks at the customer.

"Sorry?"

The plump-cheeked woman frowns, pointing to a pair of navy blue running shoes on the shelf. "Do you have these in a size seven?"

"I'll have to check. Excuse me."

Moving towards the storage in the back of the sporting goods store, he shakes his head slightly, concentrating on what he should be doing.

He's been at work for two hours and in that time, he's managed to mix up requests, hand the wrong package to the wrong customer, twice, and gotten a word of warning from the manager.

Plucking out a box of size sevens from the pile, he heads back into the store, tugging at the arm of the polyester referee shirt.

He's been working in the store for a year but he still can't get used to the uniform; it can get itchy, especially in the summer.

After taking care of a few more customers, who include a group of giggling, indecisive and flirtatious sophomores, he proceeds to restock the empty slots in the shelves.

Initially, he's unsure whether that singsong voice is directed at him.

"Your wife is now a lesbian," Brent hums from behind the cash register.

Preoccupied with other concerns, Nathan ignores him, focusing on organizing the tennis shoes.

The building manager almost had a coronary when he saw the busted window at their apartment.

Nathan didn't know what to expect from the guy, temperamental as he often is. He did say that he would fix the window, but he'd have to dip into their security deposit.

"Your wife is now a lesbo," Brent sings much louder. "Your wife is now a lesbo."

Cussing, he stops what he's doing momentarily, muttering a little loudly, "Idiot."

The cash register chinks noisily, the sound resonating in the empty store.

"Mind saying that to my face, Scott?" he snarls.

"You're an idiot, Brent," Nathan says, not bothering to turn around to face his coworker.

In less than five seconds, Brent is striding across the store, grabbing Nathan's shoulder and violently pushing him forward.

"What did you call me?"

Smacking Brent's arm away, Nathan stands in a defensive position, stepping up to him.

Brent is built like a bull, a giant rodeo bull with a big ego and the personality of a paper bag.

They've never gotten along, and somehow, Nathan has been able to keep it cool over the past year they've worked together. Mostly because Brent has mush for brains and whatever he says resembles dead air.

But Nathan is not having a good day. He won't let it slide when some idiot by training is insulting his wife.

Shoving him back, the anger takes over as Nathan growls, "Listen, bonehead. You can say as much shit as you want about me but when you open your huge mouth and say shit about _my wife_, we have a big problem. Got it?"

Face contorted, Brent's reptile-like eyes harden, his small ears already reddened.

"Or would you like me to say that in a language that you'll understand? Dickspeak, perhaps?"

With a roar, Brent shoves Nathan back forcefully.

Grabbing onto a shoe rack to maintain his balance, the rack begins to rattle, sports shoes dropping like flies, their landing echoing around the store.

Brent then raises his fist, jamming it into Nathan's jawbone. Without missing a beat, Nathan charges into him with a snarl, both of them crashing to the ground.

Clutching the neck of Brent's shirt, Nathan draws his fist back, slamming it into Brent's square-cut face in a flurry of punches.

One. Two. Three.

Even though he feels like he's broken his knuckles, the punches don't seem to affect Brent the least. The oaf actually seems to be enjoying it.

For the second time in less than two days, Nathan is unable to control his rage, wanting to punch the lights out of some narrow-minded fool.

Instead of punching Brent again, he stops short, his balled fist in the air. He's breathing and sweating hard, the anger in his eyes like a kaleidoscope of colours.

"Hey!"

The manager grabs Nathan by his arm, pulling him off Brent and springing him to his feet.

"What the hell is going on here!? Do I pay you clowns to fight!?"

Neither of them replies, Brent's gaze never wavering from Nathan's as he gets up, running his palm across his bleeding mouth.

Cursing, the manager pushes Nathan towards the back of the store.

"You, storage!"

To Brent, he snaps, "You, clean this mess up!"

They don't move until he growls, "NOW!"

Branching off to the employees' break room, Nathan slaps his palms furiously on the cheap metal door of his locker.

Clenching and unclenching his jaw, he wills himself to be calmer. When he's breathing somewhat close to normal instead of flaring his nose like a billy goat, he flips his locker open, staring at the picture stuck on the door.

Seeing Haley's grinning face makes him feel calmer. It also makes him feel guilty.

She's always hated it when he loses his temper to the point of being aggressive. It's just hard for him to walk away when provoked, especially when a moron assaults her verbally or physically.

Slamming the door shut, he massages his jaw, whipping out the cell phone and business card from his pocket.

It takes five rings for him to pick up.

"_Detective Collins."_

Dropping down on one of the chairs around the small table, Nathan says, "Detective. This is Nathan Scott."

_"Who?"_

There's the sound of paper rustling, the detective muttering unintelligibly to either himself or someone close by.

"Nathan Scott. Haley Scott's husband."

It rankles him that the detective has already forgotten him after they spoke a day ago.

If he hadn't called, does that mean that the case was completely forgotten?

_"Right. What can I do for you?"_

Is he serious?

"My wife's case, detective," he says, teeth clamped together. "She was arrested for murdering Cornelius Dwight. You said that you'd look into it."

The detective breathes out loudly. _"Look, kid. I'm swamped right now. It's been– HEY! SIT DOWN! SIT THE FUCK DOWN, YOU PIECE OF SHIT! THINK I'M PLAYING?"_

Nathan holds the phone a few inches away from his ear as the detective screams at whoever the piece of shit is.

_"Hello? Nathan?"_

"I'm still here."

_"Listen. I'll see what I can do. I'll call you when I have anything, alright?"_

There's a beep in his ear from an incoming call. "Okay. Thank you."

_"Don't call– GODDAMIT, YOU LITTLE FUCKER!" _

Not wanting to hear any more of that ruckus, Nathan hangs up, taking the other call.

"Hello?"

_"Do you accept the charges for–"_

His heart jumps a beat and he says quickly, "Yes!"

With bated breath, he waits to hear her voice. And when he does, it is such a huge relief that he exhales loudly.

It's like a chunk of the weight in his mind gets lifted.

She's still alive.

_"Nathan? Baby, are you there?"_

* * *

She wants to weep at the sound of his voice.

_"Hales! Hi!"_

Clutching the phone with both hands, Haley feels her eyes welling up.

"Hi! Oh my God! H-hi!"

Blinking against the tears, she bites down on her lower lip to remind herself to keep it together.

"Did…did I call at a bad time?"

_"No. I'm just taking a break."_

"At work?"

_"Yeah."_ She hears him sigh before he says, _"It sucks."_

When she nods, she realizes he can't see her. "Look on the bright side. When I'm out, you'll be able to buy me all the stuff I'm craving for."

He chuckles lowly, and she can imagine that he's combing his fingers through his hair like he always does when frustrated.

_"Christopher called me earlier, and I can come visit on Thursday."_

"I can't wait to see you," she sighs longingly, the ache of missing him evident by the heaviness of her heart.

_"Think I'll be allowed for a conjugal?"_ he asks lightly.

With a choked laugh, she says, "Unfortunately, no. The prison doesn't allow that."

_"What's it like there? Has anyone hurt you? Have you had a checkup?"_

She smiles at the speedy way he's always asking questions whenever something happens to her.

"It's not too bad, no one's hurt me and I had a checkup yesterday. I mean, if you can count a cavity search as a checkup."

_"Jesus, Hales..."_

Sighing, she leans a forearm over the top of the payphone, rubbing her forehead on the back of her arm.

"I-I know, baby. Although I have an appointment tomorrow. And I'm supposed to attend a weekly maternity health education class."

_"That's good, right?"_

"Yeah. I think so. For now, because I just got here, they haven't set up a meal plan for me."

"_Are there other pregnant women?"_

"I've seen a few. They seem to hang out together."

"_Solidarity and support, Hales,"_ he laughs quietly.

She laughs, too. "But what happens after one of them has a baby? She gets kicked out of the group? Or does she leave? Anyway, enough about me. What's happening with you?"

He recounts the late night visit from the Pleasant Hill psychos, leaving out the part where he'd punched one of them earlier in the day.

Trying to keep her cool about people attacking him for something that's not his fault, she teases him about wearing her pink kitchen gloves and scrubbing down the door.

She also tells him about the prison's schedule, the 4:30 dinner that makes her wonder if prison is similar to a nursing home, the 5AM wake up call, the measly breakfast, and the endless hours spent indoors.

She talks about her cellmate and Jean Big, describing the cliques in prison and how she feels like a sore thumb, having had to sit by herself in the prison's version of a losers' table for her last two meals.

_"I called your parents last night,"_ he says.

It wipes the smile off her face.

"What? N-no…"

Talking with him has left her feeling such a great loss at the crutch their relationship is in. Now she's fraught with the thought of her parents hearing about her predicament.

_"I didn't get them but I told them to call me back."_

Her parents travel around the country in their RV, dropping by every few months. Even if they've not seen each other in months, telling them about her imprisonment is out of the question.

"I don't want them to know, Nathan. I really don't."

_"Why?"_ He sounds confused at her desperate tone. _"They're your parents. Th–"_

"No. I mean it, Nathan. They'll freak out and hippies that they are, they'll probably organize some sort of protest."

_"Because they love you, babe,"_ he says softly.

She shakes her head, tapping her fingers rapidly on the booth. "I know they do but if they pull one of those stunts, it will stress me out. I can't deal with that. Not right now. I need not to worry about them worrying about me."

_"You're not giving them enough credit, Hales. What if they're supportive instead?"_

"When Viv got suspended for a week from school, they harassed the principal for that whole week with signs and a bullhorn at his parking spot."

_"Did he cave in?"_

"He gave her an additional week. Do you know what that would do to me in here if someone were to find out that there are people on a daily protest outside these walls? I don't want to find out."

He hesitates before asking, _"Are you sure that you don't want them to know?"_

"I'm sure. Please don't tell them, Nathan."

_"But what if–"_

"I swear to God that if you tell them, I'll never forgive you," she snaps, irritated and worked up.

Being pregnant, hearing her husband's voice and missing the hell out of him has left her emotions all over the place. At least that's what she's telling herself to explain why she's being so horrible to him.

She can hear him breathing quietly over the phone, probably as worked up as she is at her irrational stubbornness.

They're her parents, they care about her, and they have every right in the world to know that she's in prison, but she doesn't care.

If by some miracle she's released before the trial, she'll tell them and they can be as angry with her as they want for keeping them in the dark.

For the time being, she wants them to stay out of it.

Someone taps her on the shoulder, and when she looks back, an inmate is scowling at her. An indication that she should hang up.

"I…I gotta go."

She doesn't wait for him to respond, hanging up and rushing out of the rec room. She feels like a real bitch for being so harsh and mean.

Just as she's about to go out into the yard, a guard calls out her name.

"Scott! Legal room. Your lawyer is here."

* * *

The July sun is bearing down hotly on the inmates. It's a welcome heat, after being cooped up indoors within cold cement for hours.

Haley is seated on one of the bleachers near the basketball court, watching a group of inmates pick teams.

It reminds her of high school when she would attend Nathan's games, cheering along with the rest of the spectators. Was it only a little over a month back that they graduated?

Shielding her eyes from the sun with her palm as she looks up at the cloudless sky, she recalls their phone conversation less than an hour ago.

She didn't mean to snap at him like that when he was just being supportive and considerate to want to inform her parents on her whereabouts.

If Christopher had his cell phone, she would have begged him to let her call Nathan. But he didn't. And she used up her allotted minutes for the day.

She sucks in a quivering breath, dropping her hand and looking out the packed yard.

Hopefully he'll still want to talk to her when she calls tomorrow. Hopefully he'll still want to see her on Thursday.

Christopher had asked her to write up a list of the people she wanted to visit, and Nathan's was the only one she wanted there.

But her friends will want to come, too. It's just going to be really hard seeing the concern in their eyes when they do visit. Should they start crying, she'll weep along with them, too.

"Hey, pretty girl. You don't look so good."

Jean Big, in her usual outfit of white vest, faded orange pants and army boots, climbs up the bleachers, taking the one above Haley.

Putting aside the uncomfortable glances she gives her, Jean Big doesn't seem like a bad person. She's not threatened her in any way. Yet.

From Haley's observations, Jean Big is popular and gets along with almost everybody. According to Selena, she's been in prison for eight years for drug trafficking, and she's rumoured to blackmail guards into doing her bidding.

Someone like that could be better an ally than an enemy.

"I'm fine," she says quietly.

They sit in silence for a moment before Jean Big asks, "You play ball?"

Haley shakes her head, a small smile on her lips. "No. My husband does."

The husband she yelled at earlier when he was only trying to be helpful.

"Is he any good?"

"He's amazing," she answers proudly. "They won the State Championship a couple of months ago."

"State Championship? No shit! I watched that game! Bulldogs and Ravens, right?"

At Haley's nod, Jean Big asks thoughtfully, "Scott…Scott…there were two Scotts in that game. Any relation?"

Haley's smile fades when she sobers up, feeling homesick and remorseful.

She wants to call him back and apologize a million times over.

"Nathan's my husband and Lucas is my brother-in-law."

"Cool. Hey, want to ref? Our regular is in the infirmary."

Haley looks up at her questioningly.

Jean Big laughs, her palms up. "Nothing to do with us. She works at the garage and hurt her foot. Speaking of, you got a job assignment yet?"

"No."

"What do you like to do? Can you cook?"

"I'm alright. I like to tutor."

"We have a GED program but they usually send teachers from some dinky college. You going to ref us or what?"

"Um, I'll just watch."

Theirs is a rough one.

As much as they try to follow the rules of the game, they yell and cuss at each other, shoving and pushing, like a combination of rugby and basketball on asphalt.

Good thing that they all seem to be the same in size.

There are a lot of fouls, airballs and turnovers, but they don't seem to care. It's like some unspoken declaration of war on who can outlast everyone else. Strange that they look so feral on the court yet they were laughing and slapping each other's backs ten minutes ago.

"You're in my spot."

It's said none too gently, like whoever it is wants to rip her throat for sitting in their spot.

A petite, baby necked brunette not much older than her is standing two feet away, arms folded over chest, a lethal gleam in her eyes.

"I am?"

She lowers her arms but the deadly air about her doesn't disappear.

"Did I stutter?" she retorts nastily.

Haley looks around at the bleachers before saying, "But it's empty."

The brunette's large hazel eyes narrow dangerously. "Yeah. But you're in _my_ spot."

It's such a juvenile ploy that Haley won't get into a fight over a sitting spot.

She slides herself up to where Jean Big was seated earlier, leaving the girl her precious spot.

Instead of letting it go, the brunette seems to get aggravated further.

With a slight eye roll, Haley is on her feet, stepping down the bleachers.

If it means so much to her to have six bleachers all to herself, she'll give her that.

She's stopped in her tracks by a forceful jerk to her elbow.

"Ow!"

The brunette presses down her fingers on Haley's elbow, giving it a painful squeeze.

With a hard shrug, Haley frees herself, on instinct pushing the girl back.

She's survived at least a full day in prison by observing, keeping to herself and staying out of trouble, but somehow, trouble has found her.

Unable to control herself, she snarls, "What's your problem?"

In that scowling and scrutinizing way of hers, the brunette seems to turn vicious.

Clearly, the girl is angry about something.

Haley doesn't get it; she's let her have the whole stand but it's still not enough.

"You're my problem."

She looks just about ready to give Haley a good slug.

"What the hell is going on here?" a guard barks, approaching the two.

In a flash, the brunette's stance completely changes. Her glare slips, her face softens to appear the innocent victim, her large eyes getting a look similar to that on an adorable child pleading for candy.

"Scott was threatening me if I told anyone about her contraband."

Then she gasps, looking at the broad-shouldered guard like she's spilled state secrets.

"I-I didn't mean to tell you but she…"

She turns away, shutting her eyes as if both terrified and ashamed.

She should feel ashamed for that duplicitous performance that seems second nature to her, using her physical appearance to charm a guard into believing her.

"No phone access for a week, Scott."

Haley, still in disbelief at what the girl has just implied, and that she knows her name, waggles her head as she faces the guard.

"What? You can't do that!"

"Two weeks!" he yells, spit flying out of his mouth. "Or do you want to be in SoHo for a month?"

It's an empty threat if the guards could lock up every inmate who had the smallest offence; there wouldn't be any room for the grievous offenders in solitary housing when it came down to it.

"No!"

It may be a bluff but she's not willing to test that theory.

"I didn't think so. Two weeks, no phone calls! Anyone else want what she got!?" the guard bellows, looking around the yard, his neck muscles bulging.

Turning to Haley, he snaps, "I suggest you start learning how to write letters."

When he's out of earshot, Haley glowers furiously at the brunette.

"Thanks a lot for that."

The one thing she was looking forward to tomorrow was talking to Nathan, and now she doesn't have that anymore.

Resuming her menacing glare, the brunette flicks Haley's shoulder.

"Watch what you say. You're too green to start mouthing off."

Haley seems to become lucid at the girl's ominous tone, realizing where she is and that her irritation may get her into trouble.

She's not one to let people steamroll her but the way things work here is not the same as they do out there.

Badmouthing could land her in dangerous water.

"Good," the brunette sneers malevolently.

As inmates disperse from the interrupted drama, Jean Big stalks over to the two remaining inmates who are staring at each other.

"Tess!"

Brushing past Haley, she grabs the brunette's hand, dragging her away violently, the girl protesting energetically.

When she's the last one standing, Haley reflects on what just happened.

She feels like a fish out of water; she's had her share of spats with girl friends but none of them have ever turned physical.

What kind of person gets themselves into something so messy a day after being in prison?

She can't believe that she was so close to getting involved with Jean Big and her drama just so she'd be able to bear imprisonment.

She needs to throw up. Her morning sickness is either acting up again at midday, or she's been shaken up to the point of getting physically ill.

* * *

"Let's do this, then," Detective Collins says, taking the extra chair behind the desk.

"I have a six pack waiting for me at home and there's a game on tonight."

The lab technician clicks on the keyboard, bringing up a video.

"And I have a hot date with a gorgeous woman."

"Is she inflatable?"

"Very funny, detective. I'll have you know that she's as real as the booger hanging at the end of your nostril."

Detective Collins reaches to rub his nose. "What?"

The technician grins, ducking from the punch that the detective's meaty hand aims on his arm.

"Your smart mouth will get you into real trouble one of these days, Noah."

"My mother told me the same thing last week."

The video starts to play and silence roams between them as the scene plays out.

Suddenly, the chair creaks as Detective Collins leans closer to the screen.

"Wait, wait. Go back a second. Good. Now in slow motion. Did you see that?"

"See what?"

"Her hair. It…moved."

Noah looks at him strangely. "Long hair kinda moves, detective."

"Rewind it again and pay close attention, smartass."

The image moves at a snail's speed and at the click of a button, the technician pauses it.

"Huh."

"Is that normal?"

"You mean for someone to adjust their wig? Then, yeah. It's normal."

The swivel chair creaks as Detective Collins leans back on it, his eyes focused on the screen.

He's only doing this after getting those phone calls from the husband and the lawyer today.

He had completely forgotten about this case. A last-minute heist led them to busting up one of the major drug distributors that had been evading them for months.

When he saw Haley Scott on that night and took her through criminal processing, she didn't look like she wore a wig.

What's even stranger is that the girl on the screen seems to go out of her way to not even have her profile seen. Yet earlier on, the Haley Scott in the video during her stop at the store was looking around freely like she wasn't even aware that cameras were watching.

"Well, shit," he sighs, linking his hands at the back of his head.

This is not a good way to end such a productive day.

* * *

Nathan is inattentively stirring his bowl of Honey Nut Cheerios and staring vacantly into space when the cell phone knocks against the kitchen counter as it vibrates.

Snatching it up, he glances at the unknown number. Jesus, it's not the prison, is it?

"Hello?"

"_Nathan Scott?"_

Relieved, he recognizes the voice. He sits up in the bar stool immediately, the spoon dropping into the bowl with a clank.

"Detective Collins?"

"_Yes. You have a moment to talk?"_

"Yeah. Do you have some news?"

"_Are you free tomorrow? There's something I'd like you to see a–"_

"What time?"

He doesn't care whether he'll have to grovel for a half day off from the manager but this is important. Haley is important.

"_Noon is fine."_

"I'll be there. Thank you."

When he hangs up, he can't resist grinning.

The detective has something to show him. Whatever it is, it could be significant enough to get Haley cleared.

He wishes he could call her with the news. Their conversation didn't end as smoothly as he'd wanted; she wasn't thrilled with the idea of her parents knowing about what's going on.

There are moments that his wife is a mystery to him. But he has to admit, she had a point.

If her parents were to protest her three-month imprisonment, probably worse than they did for Vivian's one-week suspension, their actions would affect Haley. And their baby.

He can't imagine the inmates letting something like that go. Out of jealousy or mockery, they would probably make her life a living hell.

He likes Haley's parents, has always been grateful that they let them get married at sixteen, but he likes his wife more.

The cell phone knocks again on the counter.

Oh, shit. Haley's mother.

He rubs his aching hand, thinking of what he will say to them.

It's not going to be easy, but if he has to tell them that she's on some holistic expedition in India with Peyton and Brooke, so be it.

On second thought, he'll make it more realistic and stick to a local road trip where her cell phone reception is out of range.

The lie will bite him in the ass later on but he's going to do this for Haley.

This is what she wants, no matter how crazy it is.


	8. Chapter 8

"I'm heading out."

The manager glances up from the papers on his desk, giving Nathan a sharp look.

"You've been slacking off, Scott."

There are things about the man that remind Nathan of Dan, like his uncanny ability to belittle their efforts. He's not as bad as Dan but he's not the best kind of boss, either.

It was just his luck that the only job he could get involved a man with similar characteristics to his father. He hopes that it's not a sign of any form of daddy issues; he has a child on the way, for God's sake.

"I'm trying," he answers, itching to get out of the small office and on the road to Pleasant Hill.

"Try harder," the manager grunts, focusing back on his papers.

"I expect you to be here on time tomorrow morning. New shipment coming in."

"Yes, sir," Nathan says with some sarcasm before sliding his body out the door.

Grabbing his things from the locker, he makes his way to the front of the store.

"Thanks for filling in for me, man," he tells Jonathan. "I know it was last minute but I need to…"

"No problem. Is she okay?"

"I think so." He hopes that she is.

Jonathan looks down at Nathan's hand. "Are you okay?"

Nathan flexes his fingers in the slip-on wrist wrap. "Yeah."

"Anything to do with that?" Jonathan asks, pointing to Brent with his chin.

Brent is glaring at him as he serves a customer. The corner of his mouth is red and swollen, and there's a gash on his bottom lip.

"Wish I'd been there," Jonathan grins.

With a slight laugh, Nathan heads for the exit. As he moves towards the escalators, he spots Brooke across the mall, chatting with a group of girls.

She does a double take when she sees him, waving at him energetically.

He waves back, tapping a finger to his wrist to say that he's running late.

She frowns when she sees the wrap, but gives him a nod and a weak smile.

On the escalator ride down, he receives curious stares from those on the ride up.

Tree Hill is a small town. Being one of the aspiring mayor's sons, being part of that family soap opera, being the Ravens' leading player, being half of The Couple That Got Married While In High School, has made his life public by default.

He pulls out his phone from his pocket, checking if it's working.

It is, but there are no missed calls.

He's not sure whether her access to a phone was going to be a regular occurrence or a random one-time thing but he was hoping she would call today.

Hearing from her yesterday made quite a difference to his day.

* * *

This time, he waits for Detective Collins at the reception area instead of marching over to his desk.

He would probably resemble a madman behaving that hostile, and the detective wouldn't even bother looking into the case anymore.

Squirming in the uncomfortable wooden bench from increasing impatience, Nathan rubs his hands together, looking around the police station.

At that time he was last here after Haley's bail was denied, he hadn't paid any attention to how chaotic it was.

Phones are ringing, cops in uniform and out of uniform are chatting and milling around the large floor behind the front desk, no one paying attention to him.

When Nathan sees Detective Collins approaching, he sits up, already on his feet when the detective pushes past the barrier.

"Nathan."

He nods at the greeting, holding out his hand to the older man.

"Thank you for calling me, detective."

The detective gives a brief nod, motioning for Nathan to follow him.

"This may not be of help to you, kid," he says as they walk towards his desk.

"I'd still like to see it." He wants to find comfort from whatever detail he's going to receive.

"Take a seat."

Sinking into the chair on the side of the desk, Nathan watches the detective as he works the computer.

Detective Collins then leans back in his chair, clicking the pen in his hand, looking at Nathan intently.

Uneasy, Nathan asks, "Is something wrong?"

"I'm curious as to the motive behind your wife committing intentional homicide."

Nathan stiffens in the chair, hope dashing out the window that the detective is giving Haley the benefit of the doubt.

"She didn't do it," he exhales, focusing on the untidy desk.

The detective remains silent, rotating the computer to face Nathan.

Nathan raises his eyes, gluing them to the computer screen as a video starts to play.

There's no audio.

He watches Haley's every move, from the moment she walks into the store to when she's out of the camera's view.

He sees the way the clerk checks her out, the man practically drooling and almost falling off his seat.

Haley then reappears again while on the phone.

It must have been the same time when he called her, worried since she wasn't home yet. He'd run into Peyton, who'd told him that Haley had been left behind.

Hanging up, she places her purchases on the counter, the clerk starting to ring them up.

She turns her face to the side after holding out the credit card, her hair swaying with the motion. The clerk is still looking her over, his lips moving. She nods at him before taking her things and leaving the store.

The video plays on, only the clerk visible.

Nathan holds his breath as the door opens. A woman walks in, heading straight for the clerk, her face unseen.

If he didn't really know his wife, he would mistake that woman for Haley.

She's dressed exactly like Haley was earlier in the video but he can tell that she's a little taller than Haley.

He can also tell that her blonde hair is a shade lighter than Haley's, and a bit curlier, too.

The clerk is grinning at her, saying something. She then raises her right hand, a gun in it, and before the poor guy can react, she shoots him in the forehead.

Nathan jumps a little in the seat at the heartlessness of the action.

The woman then reaches to scratch at her head with the gun-free hand, and the top of her hair moves.

In three strides, she's out the door.

When the screen turns black, Nathan lets out the breath he was holding, leaning back in the chair to look at the detective.

"That…that wasn't my wife," he whispers.

There's disbelief and then there's beyond fucking disbelief; he's feeling the latter.

Who the hell is that woman?

Detective Collins just stares intently at him, his pen clicking repeatedly.

"Watch it again," he says.

Playing it again, Nathan looks at everything more closely. Near the end of it, something about the woman's hand catches his eye.

It makes him want to leap from the chair.

"She never takes it off."

"She never takes what off?"

His heart has taken a nosedive as he looks at the detective.

"Her wedding ring. Haley never takes it off and in the video, there's no wedding ring. That is not my wife in that video."

The detective turns the screen, forwarding and rewinding the frames.

"She may have taken it off not to give herself away."

Nathan shakes his head firmly. "I'm telling you, detective, Haley never takes off her wedding ring. This woman is also taller and her hair is obviously fake."

He's excited as he slaps his palm on the table. "Haley is innocent. This is your proof!"

Detective Collins shakes his head as he sits up. "This cannot be admissible as proof in any courtroom. The fact that you're her husband would discount your observations as evidence."

Nathan just blinks at him, absorbing all he's said. "What?"

"I'm sorry but unless something else comes up, your wife is still the prime suspect."

"But it's right there!" he demands, pointing to the computer. "It's not her!"

The detective sighs, sorting out some papers on the desk. "I did this as a courtesy to you, kid. To give you closure."

"Closure?" Nathan spits. "This is not closure! This…this has just turned everything into one big clusterfuck!"

"I can't help you any more than this," the detective says calmly like someone who's had experience dealing with irate citizens.

Pushing away from the desk, Nathan leans over and says, "This is not over."

"Sorry, kid. It's–"

With a grumble, Nathan breezes out of there, whatever excitement he had left quickly disbanding into anger and more frustration.

He's been so angry these past few days, like his body is making up for all those times he's chosen to take the high road.

The evidence is right there but they won't use it because he's Haley's husband. What a crock of horseshit.

Rubbing at his throbbing brow, he starts to slow down to a walk as he approaches his car.

The wig and the wedding ring are not enough to get Haley out. What more do they need to lay off her case? A miracle is what he needs.

He stops when he remembers the small piece of paper stuck in his wallet.

Cornelius Dwight.

While he's in the neighbourhood, he may as well drop by Dwight's place. Maybe there'll be something there that will be of help. If not, he could put up flyers, begging for someone to come forward with any info–

"Excuse me?"

Turning to the voice, he sees a redhead in big sunglasses leaning on a silver pickup a few cars away, map in hand.

She holds up a hand in greeting. "Hi. Sorry to bother you but I'm looking for a…"

She glances down at the map keenly before looking up at him. "…Baybeach Road?"

It sounds familiar and it takes a moment for him to remember driving past it the night Haley was arrested.

The exit road to the Interstate at the other side of town.

"Uh, yeah. Just take this street all the way to the end. You won't miss the sign. It's–"

A rain droplet lands on his forehead.

He looks up, taking in the darkened sky that he had missed.

"Nice weather," the woman says.

"Yeah," he responds distractedly, thinking of Haley like he often does whenever it's raining.

She loves the rain, always calling it their 'good sign'. He hopes that this is a good sign.

Thunder rumbles from a distance as the clouds gather, the fat droplets picking up and landing on his face with force.

"Thank you!" the woman calls out, sliding back into her car and starting it up.

He's still standing there when the rain begins to pour heavily, an odd little smile on his lips as it pelts his face and soaks his clothes.

* * *

The rain has ceased when he takes the highway towards Tree Hill, the road wet and deserted.

Turning the windshield wipers on and off one more time, he rolls down the window, breathing in the damp scent of summer heat and rain.

The only good thing about today has been the rain which has cooled the air some.

As he's reaching for the knob to turn on the radio for the trip back home, he sees flashing lights in the rear view mirror.

The car is coming down the highway at high speed, looking quite menacing as it bears down on the smaller car.

Nathan watches closely as twenty feet shortens to ten, and then five, and then he feels a bump as the Jeep Wrangler rear ends the Mazda.

"What the hell?"

Considering that there are no incoming cars on the other lane, it had to be a deliberate hit. It can't be an accident.

From the colour, he's sure that it's the same red Jeep that flew out of the apartment complex after psychos threw garbage at his door.

Jaw set, Nathan stomps on the gas pedal. The old Mazda leaps forward but it cannot compare to the power of the Jeep.

It guns down on him, engine roaring like it's stating that it's out for blood.

His blood.

"Mother…"

The Jeep touches fenders with his car again, and the aggressive hit jerks him forward.

Nathan rams the accelerator to the floor again, the speedometer rising to one-forty.

"What the hell is your problem!?" he yells furiously, tugging at his seatbelt to make sure it's secure.

The barren fields on both sides of the highway blur past as the small car squeals down the highway, its engine pitch rising and sputtering.

His foot still pushing on the gas pedal, he alternates glances between the rear view mirror and the windshield.

The Jeep honks repeatedly, as though its sadistic owner is mocking him.

"Fuck you!"

As much as he pushes on the gas pedal, his little car maintains its low speed.

Up ahead, he sees the sign for the exit. Ignoring the thunderous hammering in his heart, he hopes that there won't be a car coming off the exit and heading straight for him.

The Jeep persists, coming even faster, but he continues on.

At the curve of the exit, he swerves the Mazda onto the narrower road, energetically steering it before it tips on its side.

He makes it.

The scent of burning rubber rents the air, smoke billowing and muddy water splashing behind as the car pitches forward speedily.

There's sweat on his palms as he shifts gears. He jams down on the accelerator, wishing that the car would magically transform into a flying machine.

The Jeep, still in hot pursuit, rams hard into the back of the Mazda. That jolt is enough to knock his car off balance.

Another hard jolt forces it off the road and to the brush over the edge of the road.

Because of the rain, pressing down on the brakes does not stop the car.

"Oh, shit!"

He struggles to divert the car's course, but the Mazda bumps its way down the slippery slope mightily towards a tree.

Cursing, he braces himself for the collision.

The car bolts ahead, ignoring Nathan's urgency on the emergency brakes and shooting straight for the tree.

The impact knocks the breath out of him, his forehead hitting hard on the dashboard, the steering wheel pressing on his stomach, the airbag releasing a moment too late.

He feels a sharp pain in his ribs, but the roaring and ringing in his ears are taking precedence.

Everything is just playing at loud volume, the car horn honking repeatedly as he lays slumped over the wheel, the fast pounding of his heart a dull echo.

Groaning, he raises his heavy head gradually from the wheel, struggling to open his eyes and move something.

He can only see red from the one eye that he's able to open.

Blood is slowly dripping down his forehead, over his eye and cheek, to his chin.

Feeling weighty and lethargic, he gives up when he manages to raise his face an inch off the wheel.

His eyes start to close as he sinks into the comfort of darkness, the last thing he hears a victorious cackle.

_"Woohoo!"_

* * *

There's a hot, sharp pain in his side that is tearing through his sleep.

Like a blazing heat, it's spreading slowly, wrenching him out of peaceful unconsciousness, shredding at the darkness surrounding his mind.

With a moan, he flickers his eyelids against that haziness, trying to see.

Flitting his eyes around, recognition comes over him at the sights and sounds.

A sigh passes his lips when he sees the cream-coloured curtain on one side of him.

"Crap."

Coupled with the scent of disinfectant and a voice over a PA system paging a doctor, he's in hospital.

As things come more and more into focus, a heavy sense of dread settles over him when he sees the figure in the chair across the room.

"What are you doing here?"

Dan doesn't look surprised by the cold question.

"I came to visit you. How are you feeling?"

Nathan has learned to take niceties from his father with a grain of salt.

His tongue feels thick as he says, "Let me guess. This is ruining your campaign and you're here for damage control."

Everything these days is coming down to the mayoral campaign. If Nathan as much as laughs too loudly in public, it's deemed a poor reflection on his father's campaign.

One would think that with the family scandal of him fathering two children with two different women, abandoning one and divorcing the other, his campaign would be up in smoke.

Either Tree Hill residents love the Dan Scott they do not know or they don't really care about his character as a good man.

"Believe it or not, Nathan, there are more important things than the campaign. You're my son and I care about you."

He just about snorts but he refrains himself. There is nothing more important to Dan Scott than anything that involves Dan Scott.

"So is Lucas but you don't seem to care about him at all," Nathan groans by way of answer.

The mention of his first son has Dan stiffening in the chair. It's like he's forever in denial about Lucas' existence.

"How is your wife?" he asks snidely in retort.

He's also not fond of Haley.

Already exasperated with the small talk, Nathan rubs his stinging brow; there's a bandage over it.

Moving his hand tugs at something on the back of it. A needle connected to a drip bag.

"Haley. Her name is Haley."

Dan sighs, leaning forward, elbows on knees. "I'm trying, Nathan."

"Trying? You can't even call my wife by her name. You know what? Get over yourself because I honestly don't care about your opinions anymore."

In typical fashion at discussing Haley, Dan huffs, and his jaw clenches tightly.

A niggling thought begins to flicker across Nathan's mind. It may be farfetched to other normal fathers and sons but when it comes to Dan, anything goes.

"Did you have anything to do with this?" he asks accusingly.

He wouldn't put it past him to do something so underhanded. Could he have been planning it for a long time?

Dan stares at him, eyes narrowing dangerously, head cocked to the side. "What?"

"Did you get Haley blamed for murder just to get her out of my life? I swear to God–"

"I didn't do it. As much as I hate that little girl for ruining your life and career, I'm not that devious. I have standards, Nathan."

Nathan wants to burst out laughing.

"Really? Aren't you the same man who hired hookers in the former mayor's name just to get him out of the running? Aren't you the same man who hired a woman to seduce his brother for shits and giggles?"

Looking his father up and down, Nathan snickers. "Oh, wait. That didn't work out so well for you because Keith forgave her and married her. You must be really happy about that, _Dad_."

Maintaining his calm seems to be taking a toll on Dan because there's a vein on his forehead that's quite visible.

He then smirks stiffly, leaning back in the chair, ankle over knee.

"I use my talents on people who are worth it."

Annoyed and worked up, on top of being in pain, Nathan says curtly, "If you have nothing nice to say about my wife, just leave. I don't need your teenage theatrics around me."

"When did you become such a smartass with me?" Dan asks through gritted teeth.

"Since I started paying my own health insurance. Get out. You can stop pretending you care about me."

"I'm surprised that you can afford a private room. Has _your wife_ been making a little extra on the side by giving happy endings?"

Nathan's eyes narrow coldly at his father. He's boiling with fury.

"Get the fuck out, Dad. I mean it."

A cruel, knowing smile curves across Dan's lips.

"I heard you got into Duke. You must be thrilled. I'm proud of you, son."

"Lucas got into UNC. Are you proud of him, too?" he spits back angrily. "I don't even know why you came. I'm done with you, remember?"

Something flickers across Dan's eyes before he turns away.

"I'm glad you're okay."

It's a classic move by his father to make him feel like shit from the guilt. He's a real piece of work, Dan Scott; a piece of work that's full of meanness and manipulation.

Before he steps out, Dan spins on his heels and says, "Her prints were all over the murder weapon. There were no other cameras that caught her leaving the store. No one saw her. You're either stupid or that little girl has your nuts so tightly in her hands that you refuse to see her for what a crazy bitch she is."

He smirks, that evil little grin back. "After all, don't boys marry women like their mothers?"

So furious that he could punch a wall, Nathan grabs the pillow behind him, hurling it at his father.

It misses him by a hair's breadth.

"Fuck you, you old goat!"

Dan chuckles softly, wiggling his fingers at Nathan as he disappears down the corridor.

Looking around the room for something to hit, he comes up short.

Livid, he pulls at the white hospital bracelet around his wrist, tearing it off in one sweep and throwing it across the room.

It doesn't go far, landing at the foot of the bed.

Things will never change with his father.

There are moments when he has been tempted to strike him cold, especially when he uses that condescending tone.

_"How is your wife?"_ he mimics, his chest heaving.

Dan used that same attitude to bully him for years, making him feel worthless when he didn't live up to his impossibly high standards of perfection in basketball.

Getting emancipated meant that he washed his hands off of Dan Scott but his father never got the message, constantly meddling in his life.

It's only when hell freezes over that he will allow Dan Scott anywhere near his child.

"Mr. Scott?"

Dropping his arm from over his eyes, Nathan looks at the two policemen standing at the doorway.

He stifles a curse when he recognizes one of them.

"I'm Officer Vargas and this is Officer DeLong. A report was made that you were run off the road?"

DeLong struts in behind his partner, carrying the pillow and placing it at the foot of the bed, a smirk on his face.

Nathan just stares at him as he slowly reaches for the pillow.

"Yes," he says, answering the partner but still staring at DeLong.

Propping the pillow behind him, he frowns as he asks, "You came all the way to Tree Hill to ask me that?"

The partner flips open a small black notebook. "Accident happened in our jurisdiction so we have to follow up."

He doesn't sound too pleased about it. Pleasant Hill is just full of snobs, Nathan thinks.

DeLong then speaks up, hands on the massive belt with police accessories around his waist.

"Did you see who it was?"

Nathan knows it's Toothpick Guy but saying it will probably piss them off further.

Fuck being nice. They almost killed him, after vandalizing their home.

"No."

"Can you describe the car?" DeLong rumbles, as though frustrated.

The policemen's snobby attitude irks Nathan.

"All I know is that it was a beat-up red Jeep Wrangler," he snaps.

The officers exchange a look that's not lost on Nathan, no matter how black-and-blue he feels.

"You know who the owner is? I'd like to press charges."

Clearing his throat, Officer Vargas snaps shut his notebook, tucking it back into his pocket.

"We'll get back to you when we have any leads."

Nathan snorts but because of his heavy chest, it sounds like a cough.

"Don't you need my number to get back to me when you have any leads?" he pipes sarcastically at DeLong's back as the officers head towards the door.

They stop, swapping a glance before turning slowly to him.

DeLong adjusts the police cap around his crew cut, that condescending smirk back like a permanent fixture on his face he can't do without.

"We already have your number," he says. "It's in your wife's file after she was arrested."

Nathan knows that DeLong just wants to provoke him. He won't take the bait and give the meathead the satisfaction.

Ignoring them, Nathan rolls over on the bed, reaching for his cell phone on the bedside table.

Only two missed calls, both from Lucas.

So he didn't miss Haley's call.

Finding Luke's number, he presses the phone to his ear, heaving a sigh as he waits for his brother to pick up.

God, he's tired.

Hearing a clicking sound from somewhere behind him, he looks over his shoulder, only to see a photographer holding a camera pointed at him.

"What the…"

One more click and the leather-jacketed photographer is gone.

"Hey!"

With a grunt, he falls back on the bed, a palm over his head.

It is turning out to be a very bad day for him.

_"Hello? Nate?"_

* * *

_"Nate."_

Whatever is close to his face feels as irritating as a pesky mosquito buzzing in his ear.

_"Shit, dude! You could have broken my nose!"_

That voice is also as irritating as a pesky mosquito buzzing in his ear.

Opening his eyes slowly, Nathan squints at the face leaning over him.

"What is wrong with you?" Lucas growls as he rubs at his nose, a scowl on his face.

"I need my nose to, I don't know, breathe!"

"You should learn how not to sneak up on sleeping patients," Nathan grumbles, closing his eyes again.

"What exactly happened, Nate? You look like crap."

In his fuzzy thoughts, he remembers what has happened the last few days.

Like a dream is releasing him from its clutches, his eyes fly open, and he sits up quickly in the narrow bed.

"Oh my God! What is wrong with you!? Give a guy some warning!"

"My wife is in prison, Lucas."

Luke sighs, rubbing his temple where the IV stand connected with his skin. "Yes."

"She killed someone. Allegedly."

"Yeah."

"And– what are you doing on the floor?"

"Staying alive. Are you feeling okay? You look a little sweaty."

At Luke's words, it's like the ache down his ribcage starts to burn.

He does feel warm. Feverish. "I'm fine. Hey, did you run into any reporters? Photographers?"

"No. Everything okay?"

"Yeah. Someone came by and took pictures. Isn't it enough that Haley's in the papers and on TV?"

He's been steering clear of newspapers and local news channels but he's caught glimpses and snippets.

He rubs a hand across his face, a lightheaded feeling coming over him.

"I have some bad news, bro," Lucas says, dropping down on the chair beside the bed.

Tensing up, Nathan looks keenly at his brother. What could possibly be worse?

"What happened?"

"You know Haley's brother Alex?"

"Heard of him. What about him?"

"Someone told him that she's in prison."

"Oh, shit."

"Oh, shit is right. He called me and I had to 'fess up. Sorry, Nate."

"It's okay. Think he'll tell them?"

"I asked him not to. He said he'll think about it, but he wants to crush you."

"Tell him to take a number when he calls again."

Nathan sinks back on the bed, really feeling woozy. Things seem to be taking very odd shapes.

"You don't look so good," Lucas says, peering close to him.

"I'm going to break your nose this time," Nathan warns his brother weakly, feeling like he's roasting over a pile of hot coals.

"You seriously don't look good, Nate."

The back of Luke's cool hand presses on Nathan's brow. Nathan is too tired to tell him to stop it.

The burn on his ribcage has intensified. Slowly, he pulls the hospital gown over his boxers, blinking at the bandaged wound.

"Should it be looking like this?" Nathan asks softly, his head lolling to the side as he tries to find Luke's face in the whirling contours.

"Jesus. NURSE!"


	9. Chapter 9

"Stop that. You're making me dizzy," Selena snarls from the top bunk.

Pacing the cell, Haley nervously chews on her thumbnail, the cold oatmeal she had for breakfast roiling in the pit of her stomach.

"My husband hasn't come to see me yet."

It's past lunch, the hours have passed and she's still not been called to the visiting room.

Is he still angry with her for the way she spoke on the phone?

"So?"

Selena has a bored expression on her face as she flips a page of her book.

"Other than my lawyer, no one has come to see me in a year. You don't hear me complaining, do ya?"

Haley ignores her sarcastic tone.

"I can't call him to find out what's happening and there's no one here who would do me the favour of calling him for me."

"Frogs may as well start reciting Shakespeare because it's every con for herself in here."

"I just have a bad feeling, okay?" Haley snaps.

Selena bursts out into dry laughter. "You have a bad feeling, alright. Especially in this joint. Heard there's a bounty out on you."

Her head whips sharply to stare at her cellmate. "What? What are you talking about?"

With a shrug, Selena lays back on her pillow. "Nothin'. Question, you think you could have been able to handle jumping up the top bunk..."

She takes a fleeting glance at Haley's stomach, "...in your condition?"

Haley rests her fisted hands on the blanket, ignoring Selena's question and her own of wanting to ask how she knows about her 'condition'.

"A bounty is not nothing. What do you know, Selena?"

"Get your murdering hands off my beddings."

"I'm not a murderer. I'm innocent."

"So am I," Selena grins, pushing off Haley's hands violently from the bunk with her feet.

Selena puzzles Haley. She's a good cell mate, always keeping her space clean and tidy. But when it comes to being friendly, she's either warm or cold, flipping between the two in a matter of seconds.

As she's still pacing, the buzzer goes off and the metal bars in their cell clang as they open. A guard, hands on her hips, juts her chin at Haley.

"Scott. Visitor."

"Is it my husband?" she asks eagerly.

"How the fuck would I know?" the guard barks. "You have two seconds to get out or I change my mind and leave you to play with Selena here."

"Thanks, boss," Selena snickers.

Haley whizzes past the guard, not taking the threat lightly.

They have a way of going through with their threats.

* * *

Her hands are clammy as she is escorted through the maze of corridors and cell blocks.

They walk wordlessly all the way to the security checkpoint right outside the door leading into the visiting room.

"She wants to know if it's her sweetheart come a' callin'," the guard drawls nastily to her counterpart.

Haley just stares ahead, ignoring them, anxious.

The two women burst out laughing, the sound dying as a loud buzzing goes off to open the door.

"Want to know whether he brought you a box of chocolates, too?"

The guard pushes her forward but Haley doesn't give a second thought to the aggressiveness.

She looks down the booths for unoccupied ones, which resemble study carrels in a library, hurriedly making her way to the first one she notices.

The blonde-haired boy is not the person she was expecting to see.

His mouth is slightly ajar and his eyes are wide as he watches her every step until she's seated.

Haley points urgently to the phone.

"Lucas...w-what happened? Where is he?" she asks rapidly, her hands gripping the phone tightly.

"He…"

"Is he okay?"

He seems too stunned to speak, his eyes roaming over her.

"Please tell me, Luke. Where's my husband? What is going on?"

After a moment's hesitation, Lucas answers, "He was run off the road by some…goons yesterday."

A faint moan passes her lips and her face pales. "Is he–"

"Bruised but not broken," he assures her, panic-stricken at seeing her behind bars.

"How bad is it?"

He seems to hesitate but chooses to give her the facts.

"His spleen ruptured from the impact and he has a couple of sore spots but he's fine. The morphine is making him loopy, though."

If he hadn't passed out, he would have probably found a way to come visit her.

"Oh my God..." Haley moans, leaning her elbow on the table and running a hand through her hair.

The last thing she said to him was that she would never forgive him. If anything happens…

"He…he's in the hospital?"

Lucas nods.

"Oh, God…this is all my fault," she whispers hoarsely.

"No, Hales…"

She waves a hand at him, shaking her head. "It is, Lucas."

"He thought you'd say that."

Heel of her hand massaging her temple, she laughs halfheartedly.

"And then he told me to tell you that he…that he loves you and he'll come by to see you as soon as he can."

"How hard was it for you to tell me that he loves me?" she smiles slowly.

"You have no idea."

Getting serious, she sits up straighter, looking him in the eye.

"I need you to do something for me, Lucas."

"Anything."

"Keep him away from here. I-I don't want them to hurt him again."

"But–"

"Please, Lucas. I'm begging you. Just for a while."

Her eyes are clear and bright, looking on at him pleadingly.

"Th-they could really hurt him…"

"Haley, you know how stubborn he is."

Especially when it comes to her.

"Please, Luke. If you do, we'll name our firstborn after you."

Her face betrays nothing, although she's furious with herself for letting it slip.

They agreed not to tell anyone until this is over. She's leaning more on letting them come to that conclusion for themselves when her belly is at a gargantuan size.

"What if it's a girl?"

"We'll make it girly. Just keep him away for a while, alright? Until he's…better."

"Okay," he says with a nod. He'll make the promise to make her feel better, but knowing his brother, he'll be here next week to visit.

"Thank you. How are you?" she asks.

"I'm worried about you."

"Don't be. I'm okay. Really. How's your mom?"

"Italy has blown her mind," he grins weakly.

"I bet it's an Italian guy," she grins back.

Lucas grunts softly, rolling his eyes slightly. "He's actually from New Zealand. Randy or Andy, I don't know."

Haley gasps with glee. "No way! I was kidding! Karen met a guy!?"

He nods unenthusiastically, adding that Randy or Andy is years younger than her.

It's a conversation he'd wanted to have with her after his mother called, but she was arrested that night.

"How much younger?"

"Five years. I think."

She drops her smile, looking at him with worry. "Is she happy?"

He sighs, rubbing a hand down his face. "She sounds like it."

Things didn't work out between his mom and his Uncle Keith. The breakup was mutual, but she hadn't met a man since then who she felt was worth her time.

"It's all that matters, Luke, right?" she asks quietly.

Lucas nods, missing chats like these with his best friend, the girl he's known since they were eight.

Where he could be irrational and quick to jump to conclusions, she was levelheaded, stopping him from doing anything rash.

"I was just being selfish, I guess."

She dips her head, looking thoughtful and sympathetic.

"I didn't tell her about you," he adds.

Nodding again, she appears relieved by his words. "Thanks."

Giving her a brief smile, he throws a look over his shoulder.

"Peyton and Brooke are here with me," he tells her with a wider grin, turning slowly in the seat to motion them over.

Haley's face lights up as she looks past him, thrilled to hear that her girlfriends came.

"Really?"

The girls are waving enthusiastically, sad smiles on their faces as they make their way to the booth.

"It's going to be a tight squeeze," Lucas says.

* * *

The mechanical door clangs shut behind her when Haley steps back into the cell unit.

It's like she's in a daze as she walks towards the stairs, thinking about Nathan hurt and wounded.

She played the part of being okay but now that her friends are gone, she can react to the news that her husband was in an accident.

A ruptured spleen is nothing close to a scrape that requires a Band-Aid; he could have died. And if he gets worse…

Starting for the stairs, she stops when she sees the brunette already walking down the steps, mouth curled up in a sneer, a posse trailing her.

Haley just looks away, hand on the railing, waiting for the group to pass.

Luke's words ring in her mind, ominous words of Nathan having been run off the road by goons, words of him being in hospital.

Her eyes are burning as she lets out a shaky breath; she's on the verge of tears at imagining everything that's happening at home, everything that Nathan has to go through because of this mess.

As Tess takes the last step, she intentionally bumps her shoulder against Haley's, so hard that Haley grips the railing tighter to keep from falling.

She's learning about the hierarchy in prison, and being a new inmate, she's the scum of the prison pond.

After their exchange at the basketball court where Tess implied that Haley had contraband, the guard tore their cell apart, demanding to see whatever it is she was hiding. Selena was not too happy at that.

She got off with a frightening warning that the guards were watching her every move.

"What the _hell_ is your problem?" she asks scathingly at Tess' back.

She may be new but after today's news, she's not in the mood to be anyone's punching bag.

Tess stops, her hands clenching into fists as she turns little by little to face Haley.

"What did you say?" Tess snarls angrily, each word punctuated, the dangerous gleam that Haley has come to associate with her evident in her eyes.

"What is your problem?" she repeats, her words punctuated, too.

Like the last time they met, Tess flicks her shoulder.

"You want a free lesson in respect?"

Her posse is right behind her, murmurs and low cheers going round urging for a fight.

The small gathering is starting to gain an audience, inmates stepping out of their cells to watch the scene unfold.

"I never did anything to you," Haley says through gritted teeth, giving Tess a look weighty with as much bitterness as is physically possible.

Tess plants her hands on Haley's shoulders, shoving her back with so much force that Haley lands on her butt on a stair.

Glancing up at the inmates above whose curious eyes are trained on the two of them, she feels her bravery shatter in one sweep.

She wants to go home.

She wants to see her husband and make sure that he's okay.

"I never did anything to you!" she screams, on her feet and shoving Tess as hard as she can.

Unable to control it, a tear trickles down her cheek. Nathan is her weakness and just thinking of him hurt and in hospital aggravates everything she's feeling.

Tess looks at her intently for a microsecond before bursting out into roaring laughter.

Her posse starts to laugh as boisterously along with her, that unison sound so taunting that Haley can't help but choke out a sob.

She can't hack it in here for three months, leave alone twenty-five years.

Out of that cruel ruckus, a voice is heard yelling, "TESS!"

They all stop laughing in unison, every person in the cell unit looking towards that voice.

Haley wasn't wrong that first time she met Jean Big; she is an authoritative force amongst the inmates.

She's leaning on the balcony outside her cell, a furious gaze directed at the baby necked brunette.

"What the hell?"

And like the last time, Tess seems to weaken at Jean Big's disapproval.

There's a pin drop silence as she turns to stare angrily at Haley, starting to back away leisurely.

Just as slowly, before disappearing from Haley's view, Tess runs her thumb across her neck, her lips curled up in a mean smile.

It takes a moment for everyone else to lose interest in Haley.

Blinking a few times, she staggers up the stairs, ignoring the teasing words from passing inmates asking when the next fight will be.

Swallowing back the lump in her throat, she marches purposefully towards Jean Big's cell.

Jean Big, leaning a hip on the balcony, arms folded across her chest, just watches her with those dark grey eyes, her expression unreadable.

"I…I don't want any trouble," Haley whispers brokenly.

"Stay away from me and tell your girlfriend to stop attacking me."

"Please," she sighs before fleeing for her cell, feeling tired and defeated.

Still high-strung, she flops down on her cot, bent knees against her chest, huffing out her fear and anger.

If, when, Tess manages to get her alone the next time, she's dead meat. She understood that universal sign quite clearly.

It takes a minute for her to notice the white shower slippers on her pillow.

She stares at them for a moment, wondering if someone left them there by mistake.

Lifting them slowly from the bed with slightly pale and trembling fingers, she flips the slippers over and over, as if looking for a name tag on who their owner is.

In a split second, her gaze is darting to the cell across, landing on Jean Big.

Jean Big gives her a brief smirk and a nod before moving out of sight.

Haley's mouth puckers in surprise, slippers still in her hand.

It took courage to ask to borrow Selena's shower slippers the first time, Selena only agreeing to it when Haley vehemently denied having fungal infections.

Continuously asking to borrow her cellmate's things would have been a step towards begging, and she was just going to make-do with her canvas slip-ons.

Did Jean Big just happen to have a brand new pair of shower slippers in her cell?

With a sigh, Haley leans back on the wall, placing the slippers over her weak knees.

She's stopped trying to make sense of what people know and don't know around here.

There are no secrets in prison, especially when she's in the radar of a major player like Jean Big.

* * *

"Mom, stop. I'm fine."

She huffs, patting the pillow behind his head. "You're on a hospital bed after having surgery, Nate. There's nothing fine about that."

"Minor surgery," he corrects her, looking at his phone on the bedside table.

Since the surgery late yesterday afternoon, he's been so out of it that he can only remember bits and pieces.

Like Luke's visit this morning.

It's hazy but he thinks he asked Lucas to give him a ride to the prison to visit Haley.

Lucas refused, and at some point, he was pinning him down the bed, calling him an ass or a donkey, saying that he would go see Haley himself.

The morphine really began to kick in and he thinks he mumbled something about Haley being loved and at fault.

Everything is like a dream he can't quite recall.

"Minor? You had a ruptured spleen!" she screeches, straightening the blanket over him.

"A mild tear on it is hardly going to kill me. It doesn't hurt," he says, sighing and closing his eyes.

He's lost count of the number of times he's vowed not to have his mother at his deathbed. She's not the best person to make light of a dire hospital situation.

She's calm and steady in other situations but hospitals send her into a tizzy. When Dan had a heart attack back in freshman year, she cried every time she stepped into the room, until Dan begged her not to visit anymore.

She goes on a spiel about surgery being anything but minor, quoting statistics she's probably made up on the spot about his chances of getting sicker if he doesn't take care of himself.

Nathan tunes out, but nods inattentively, thinking about Haley.

It sucks that he's stuck in hospital when he promised to visit her; today was the only day he could visit in the course of the week.

Those Pleasant Hill psychos must be ecstatic that they accomplished their mission.

"Mom," he cuts in when he thinks of something.

"How did I get here? To the hospital?"

She looks at him in confusion before answering, "Ambulance."

"Yeah, but who called it? Did someone who was driving by see the car and call?"

"Not that I know of. There was no one there when the ambulance got to you. Someone must have called and left the scene."

She reaches for her purse, sliding it over her shoulder. "You want something to eat? Water?"

He shakes his head, thinking that the Pleasant Hill psycho behind the wheel must have called the ambulance.

"No, thanks," he answers distractedly.

It was so kind of them to summon for help after trying to kill him.

He's sure that the ringleader is Toothpick Guy, but he doesn't have any proof to back it up. If he had any, he would press charges in a heartbeat.

He knows that he doesn't have the most stellar record when it comes to picking on people but even so, he's never done anything so extreme that would actually end up with someone in a morgue.

The phone starts to ring as he's conjuring up the best way to go about getting Toothpick Guy.

He snatches it up before the first ring is over.

"How is she?"

"_She looked okay."_

"No bruises?"

"_No bruises. She was worried about you, though. Told me to tell you that she loves you, too."_

He mumbles the last part, and Nathan wants to snicker at how uncomfortable it must be for his brother to be the middleman for their messages.

"_They revoked her phone privileges so she couldn't call."_

He sits up on the bed, hand over the bandage along his ribcage. "Why?"

"_She told me that there was a misunderstanding."_

Silence lingers, like Lucas wants him to read in between the lines.

"Do you believe her?" Nathan finally asks.

"_She was looking past me when she said it."_

It's Haley's tell when she's hiding something.

"Why would she lie?" he mutters, more to himself than to Lucas.

"_I don't know. But that place…"_

He hears his brother sigh heavily.

"You said–"

"_Yeah. She's okay, but it's prison, Nate. How okay can she be?"_

Nathan nods thoughtfully, wishing that he could be able to see his wife, even for just a nanosecond.

"Thanks for going, man. I promised her that I would but…thanks, Luke," he finishes quietly.

"_No problem, bro."_

The doctor is walking in, stethoscope around his neck, reaching for the clipboard at the footboard of the bed.

"Um…I gotta go."

"_I'll see you in an hour."_

* * *

The bathroom has emptied out when Haley steps out of the shower cubicle.

She tucks the towel edge tightly around her chest, carrying her things under her arm.

Her new shower sandals squish against the wet cement as she makes her way to the sinks to brush her teeth.

The silence is enjoyable; it's a rare thing to have this much of it around when inmates are often talking and yelling at all hours of the day.

Back home, the nighttime quiet was something comforting, something to get lost in after a long day of work or school. In here, it's nothing close to reassuring; she's constantly imagining being dragged out of her bed in the middle of the night for some sort of newbie hazing ritual.

Tilting her head to the side, she rakes fingers through her hair, owing to the lack of a comb.

The commissary has things that inmates can purchase but she has no money. She needs at least forty bucks to buy a comb, shampoo and a dozen other items.

Three months is a long time to comb her hair with her fingers.

Like Selena said, it's every con for herself in here. She forgot to mention the commissary to Lucas; she'll just have to wait for the two weeks to be over before she can call Nathan to ask for money.

Her hands still when she thinks about Nathan, lying on a hospital bed post-surgery.

He's not the best patient, always doing the opposite of what a doctor says. Like sneaking out of the house in the middle of the night to play hoops when he has the flu.

God, she misses him.

The rhythmic tune of dripping water echoes within the empty bathroom as she starts to hum softly.

For the few days she's been here, she's taken pleasure in the smallest things, like being able to hum without anyone deeming her wacko or disruptive.

"Doing time" is quite the appropriate slang to define imprisonment. Time is all they have.

Time to think, time to reflect, time to self-analyze, time to dream their lives away; all of it intended to tidily drive an inmate crazy with just how slowly it passes.

Suddenly feeling uneasy, Haley clutches her towel closer, her head craning around the humongous bathroom.

It's strange that she's the only one in there, but she's glad about it.

She's never been one to strip bare in front of people. In gym class, she waited until the showers were empty before taking one and for the two days she's been here, she's snuck in when it's emptying out.

A crash then ricochets in the late night quiet, startling her.

Heart beating faster, she stares intently at the door-less entrance, getting a sense that she's being watched.

"Hello?"

Suddenly, the lights go off, the abrupt darkness making her jump back, her shoulder striking hard into a tampon dispenser mounted on the wall.

Her gaze scurries around the dark bathroom.

"H-hello?"

She rubs her stinging, sore shoulder, her eyes glued to the doorway of the bathroom.

A large shadow falls over the entryway, whoever it is breathing hard and just standing there.

"Could you p-please turn on the lights?" she stammers, shrinking back.

The shadow proceeds to enter the bathroom, two more shadows emerging from behind it.

She has nowhere to run, cornered at the end of the long counter of sinks as she is.

Not knowing what to do, she shuts her eyes tightly, letting out a soft whimper.

"D-don't…"

They don't care, reaching roughly for her.

"Bitch!" she hears one of them growl.

In a flash, she's on the cold and wet floor, the back of her head hitting the cement so hard that she's afraid she may have cracked her skull.

The first kick lands on her backside, making her yelp out and curl up into a ball, facing the wall.

The second one hits her right in the middle of her back, the sharp pain like a lightning bolt going through her.

Shivering there on the floor, she starts crying, biting down on her lower lip while hugging her knees, trying to protect her baby from the beating.

One after another, the shadows take turns kicking at her, each of them grunting with the effort.

She feels a boot and two canvas shoes, and at one time they hit her simultaneously, her head jerking forward and connecting with the wall.

_Please don't hurt my baby…_

To numb the brutal blows, she covers her head with her hands, transporting her mind to home.

She imagines she's at home with Nathan, and he's okay. She imagines that she's in a time where there's a baby in her arms as Nathan takes one picture after another.

She imagines that she's safe, and free, not having to worry about looking over her shoulder for scornful brunettes like Te–

"HEY!" a familiar voice yells, the sound bouncing off the tiled walls and slashing at her thoughts.

"WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING!?"

The shadows over her stop and then she hears cussing and scrambling. One more kick from the boot lands on her lower back again, making her scream out in agony.

Eyes still shut, she feels quakes go through her, quakes that are more from the attack than the cold seeping off the slippery floor.

As she gasps for air from the hot, searing pain on her back, a rough hand touches her shoulder.

Flinching, she moves away, a desperate moan passing her lips.

For all she knows, she could have been the initiator of the attack.

"I'm trying to help you, sweetheart," Jean Big says, her tone soft.

Haley opens her eyes slowly, cocking her head to the side. In the brightness and through her tears, Jean Big is looking down at her compassionately, a sliver of blood at the corner of her lips.

"J-J-Jean…"

She wants to go home.

She wants Nathan.

"It's okay, pretty girl," Jean soothes.

Looking around them at the now empty bathroom, Haley allows Jean to help her up.

She won't ask how Jean knew when to come help the moment she did.

Disregarding the trace of cigarette smoke from Jean, Haley leans into her. Right now, that scent is more consoling than nauseating.

Unable to hold herself up, Haley stumbles slightly from dizziness, feeling like the back of her head is on fire.

"Whoa." Jean holds her tightly, carrying most of her weight like she weighs nothing.

"Do you want me to take you back to your cell?" Jean asks as they limp out of the bathroom.

If she wasn't pregnant, she'd just return to her cell; she needs to know if the baby is okay.

"N-no. Infirmary," Haley says, holding onto her towel and swallowing back a sob.

Jean pauses midstride, looking at Haley as if passing a message.

"I s-slipped and fell. You found me," Haley says firmly, sniffling.

"They'll write a report."

It's Haley's turn to stop. "I'm pregnant, Jean. I need to know if my baby is okay."

Jean doesn't look surprised at the admission, and they continue quietly towards the door that leads to the infirmary.

The sleepy guard doesn't ask questions, opening the mechanical door for them without a word.

* * *

Haley insists that Jean stay in the room with her during the examination, not wanting to be left alone as her baby's fate hangs in the balance.

Her body is on fire, every spot they kicked at feeling tender and ablaze, and she can feel a bump growing at the back of her head.

Every moment she's lying there, she desperately wishes that Nathan was right there with her.

The doctor, not the same one who did the cavity search on them that first day, pokes and prods her for what feels like eternity.

Her limbs are quaking as she's on that examination bed, her eyes darting from one corner to the next of the ceiling, dreading to hear bad news.

"I fell in the shower," she says steadfastly, not shifting her gaze from the doctor's.

"You fell in the shower," the doctor repeats, pen poised over the chart in her hands.

"Yes. Jean helped me." Her hands go over her waist, cradling the small swell of her belly.

"Is…is my baby okay?"

The doctor turns away, scribbling profusely without glancing up at Haley.

"Everything looks fine," she says flatly.

"Looks fine?" Jean barks from beside Haley.

The doctor looks up from the chart and with a very slight eye roll says, "Everything is fine. Your baby is okay. Happy?"

"Very," Jean bites back.

"I'll get you some painkillers." With a shake of her head, the doctor is gone.

"Oh my G-God…"

Haley just covers her face with her hands, starting to sob.

Her baby is okay.

Through her blinding tears and the pounding headache, she turns to Jean, taking the woman's rough hand.

"Th-thank you," she says in a small voice.

"I bet you didn't have this in mind when you got here, huh?" Jean asks, rubbing her bare shoulder gently.

Sniffling, Haley attempts a smile, still shaken up but immensely relieved that the baby is okay. "You mean your girlfriend putting out a bounty on me?"

Jean's hand stiffens in Haley's hold, and she drops the one on her shoulder. "Tess is…"

Her jaw is tight as her grey eyes flicker across Haley's face.

"Tess is nothing to me."

At the intense meaning behind Jean's soft-spoken words, Haley loosens her hand, shifting slightly on the bed while holding onto the thin hospital gown.

"Jean…I'm not…"

She wipes at her cheeks with the back of her hand, trying to come up with words that will convey what she really wants to say.

"Thank you for saving me. And my baby. I'm so very grateful for that but…"

Jean nods, looking disappointed. "I still like you, pretty girl."

The smile Haley gives her arrives slowly, but it's there, albeit uncertain. Relaxing back on the bed, she asks softly, "Why? You don't even know me. I could be a spy sent to strip you of your god-like power in here for all you know."

"You're doing a pretty good job, I would say," Jean smirks.

And then she shrugs, staring back at Haley. "Can you really explain attraction?"

Haley feels her ears heat up, that warmth touching her cheeks, her eyes moving swiftly away from Jean's face as Jean lets out a soft chuckle.

"I never got to say thank you for the slippers," she pipes, breaking the silence.

She looks at her feet, wiggling her toes in the white sandals.

"No problem. I had an extra pair," Jean grins, sinking into the stool beside the bed.

"You had an extra pair."

"I had an extra pair."

Tucking her hair behind her ears, Haley laughs softly, feeling a pain crisscross from her back to her neck.

"You are a kind person, Jean Sponberg."

Jean links her hands in the space between her parted legs, that intense stare Haley has seen over the last few days in her eyes.

"Not to everyone," she finally says.


	10. Chapter 10

"ID, please," the sleepy-eyed guard asks, holding out his hand.

He uses an old computer that would probably be found in a high school basement to crosscheck Nathan's name to the Visitors List.

"Are you carrying any drugs or weapons?"

"No."

They frisked him before he was let in, and as invasive as it felt, it possibly couldn't compare to the body search that Haley told him about.

Licking his forefinger, the guard pinches out a piece of paper from a clump on his desk, sliding it over the counter.

"Sign this," he mumbles.

Hiding a grimace, Nathan grabs the Bic dangling on a string, scrawling his signature on the bottom of the page.

The guard hands him a white visitor's badge with a large number on it.

"Keep the badge visible at all times while you're here."

Nathan clips it on his breast pocket and the guard motions for him to move along.

There's a mechanical buzz and the massive door clanks open. When he's passed through, it closes loudly, the sound echoing heavily.

He doesn't stop to look behind, just walks the lengthy white-tiled corridor until he spots a guard's booth.

No greeting is offered.

"Sign the visitor's register," the guard there says disinterestedly in a gruff voice.

The now-familiar buzz releases the door, and he walks into a small corridor. There is yet another stationed guard standing at an entrance, throwing Nathan a casual look as he walks into the room.

Conversation within the pale green walls buzzes in hyper tones.

Although Luke had told him what it looked like, his heart sinks when he sees the numerous booths. There'll be no touching because of the Plexiglas panel between the visitors and the prisoners.

Nearly all cubicles are filled in the long, air-conditioned room, and he takes an empty one close to the end.

He clears his throat nervously, leaning his elbows on the counter, his knees starting to bop.

Chatter and laughter sweeps over him as he casually looks around the room.

A beefy guard with his arms folded across his chest sits upright in a metal chair at a corner of the room next to a vending machine filled with snacks.

There's an elongated metal bench where a few people are seated, like visitors awaiting their turn.

He had to wait a whole week to see her, a whole week of pretending that things were normal, as normal as it was possible with him being stuck in bed nursing a surgical wound.

The worry and fear has been eating at him, piling onto each other so much that it feels like a steady aura surrounding him.

He feels almost nauseous with intense, anxious anticipation, his heart jumping every time the buzzer goes off.

Three inmates have arrived since he was here. Where is she?

At the fourth buzz, he takes a deep breath, craning his neck to look past the opposite side of the Plexiglas screen.

He's too far to see who it is, but unlike the other three who branched off to booths not far from the door, she keeps walking.

The top of her head is dark blonde, that memorable colour that he would never forget, always smelling like lime and apple.

Everything fades into the distant background, his eyes locked on her face when he sees her.

"Holy shit," he cusses under his breath.

Despite her wide grin, he's not oblivious to the cut on her lip and the fading bruise on her temple.

She seems to wince as she sits, her hand trembling as she picks up the phone off its hook.

"Nathan…Hi!"

Her hand goes over her mouth before plastering it on the glass, tears slipping down her cheeks.

"I'm so so happy to see you."

His hand matches her small one over the glass. It feels like forever since he last saw her.

"Hi…"

"Are you okay?" she asks, her voice quivering as she scans his face.

"I'm okay," he answers in a monotone, looking at the cuts on her face. "B-baby, what happened?"

"Oh, this? It's nothing."

"Nothing? What happened, Hales?"

She swallows down visibly, dropping her hand slowly.

"Th-they jumped me in the showers," she confesses, her voice a low whisper as her eyes look around nervously.

Blood roars in his ears. His jaw clenches with anger. "What."

"I'm fine. Really."

His teeth are clamped so tightly together that his jaws are aching.

"Breathe, honey. I'm fine."

"Who did this to you?"

She's hesitant to answer, as if the snitches get stitches mantra applies to everyone she talks to.

"I don't know," she says, looking past his shoulder.

She's lying, and they both know it.

"Where else did they hurt you?" he asks instead of grilling her.

"My back, my thighs, my ass," she finishes lightly with a weak smile.

With a soft gasp, his eyes fall to her stomach.

"The baby's okay."

She recalls those excruciating moments at the infirmary, waiting for the examination to be over, waiting to know how their baby was doing.

"What are you doing here?"

"I came to see you, you goof," he smiles, still looking ashen.

"You were in the hospital!" she reproves. "Did you drive here? Please tell me you took the bus."

"Okay. I took the bus."

"Nathan!"

"You told me to tell you."

"No cuteness, honey. God, I've been going crazy with worry. Are you resting? Are you taking care of yourself?"

"Yeah. Being cooped up in the apartment for days with a surgical wound is not something I would consider a vacation."

"Why are you treating this so flippantly? They could hurt you again!"

"They won't try anything. The police are watching my back."

"The…what are you talking about? What police?"

"The local cops. They drove by the apartment every few hours for a couple of days. Personally, I think they were worried that I'd break you out of here rather than make sure I wasn't slaughtered in my sleep."

"I could laugh but I'm too scared to even crack a smile, Nathan."

"Oh, come on, babe. It was a little funny."

"How did you get here?"

"Borrowed Mom's car. Are they giving you vitamins?"

"Three times a day. Guess what?"

"What?"

"I had an ultrasound," she grins proudly. "He's really tiny. Like a mustard seed."

It pains him that her first ultrasound is behind bars, and he's not there to hold her hand and see the baby for himself. And the way she's smiling…there's a strain behind it.

"He?"

"I'd rather not use 'it'."

His gaze is on her stomach again.

"He's fine. I promise."

"Oh my God," Nathan breathes out with relief. "Can we name him Miracle?"

"Lucas."

"What?"

"I was thinking Lucas. Either the first or second name."

"No way."

"Yes way."

"Second, then. Lucas would never shut up about it if it were his first name."

"I miss you," she says, a quiver in her voice. "I miss…this."

"I miss you, too. Are you sure everything is okay?"

She nods, blinking hard to hold back the tears. "I promise."

"Have you made any friends?"

"I think so. She's…helped me."

He just nods, really hoping that whoever it is doesn't have a hidden agenda.

"Remember Jean?" she asks.

He nods again, recalling their phone conversation and her mentioning of a tough inmate who'd befriended her.

"She saved my life." Her hand goes over her stomach, rubbing her palm across it, her lower lip quivering.

"Both of our lives."

"Tell me," he pleads.

She recounts softly that night in the shower, trying to make it less grave than it was.

"I…I'm going to get you out of here, Hales," he says firmly when she's done.

A part of her believes that something will come up that will acquit her, but a larger part of her is scared that this is it. That large part is petrified that there will never be anything to prove her innocent.

Shaking her head, she tucks her hand under the table.

"Hey…"

He doesn't know how to begin but he has to get her out. They jumped her in the showers, for God's sake. They could kill her next time.

"No breaking out?"

"No breaking out. Completely legal. Requires cooperation from the boys in blue but I'm working on that."

"I think I just realized what you were in a past life."

"Not that again, Hales."

"You have this…twinkle in your eye, like being a P.I. is the best thing since basketball."

"You're the best thing since basketball."

"I can work with second-best." She clears her throat, reaching to run a hand through her ponytail.

Nathan knows her well enough to notice when she's agitated.

"What? What is it? Are you feeling sick?" he asks worriedly.

She shakes her head, drumming her fingers on the table. "No. Christopher told me that the district attorney wants to work out a deal instead of going to trial."

"What kind of deal?"

"Fifteen years if I change my plea to guilty."

His eyes harden. "No way, Hales. You're not guilty."

"I know but I just…" She leans forward, lowering her voice.

"What if this is the best deal there is? What if the jury sentences me to life? What if I regret turning it down?"

It horrifies him that she's thought so deeply about this.

"Are you serious?"

She sighs heavily, shrugging slightly.

"Fifteen years, Haley? For something you didn't do? Do you know that when you get out, our kid will be in high school. _High school_, Hales. And how easy do you think it will be being an ex-con mother to a hormonal teenager? Not as easy as pie I can tell you that."

He's grinding his teeth, and he can feel a light sweat on his forehead and palms.

Haley sniffles and he feels like an asshole for the ugly things he's just said but he's desperate.

"I'm sorry."

She just shakes her head, looking away. "It's the truth."

"There has to be another way, Hales. Fifteen years?"

"I know, but I need to talk to you about something else."

The calmness in her voice makes him wiggle in his seat, leaning forward on the table, as if getting closer to her.

"Okay."

She looks up at him, eyes wet. "I don't want you to come and see me anymore."

"What?"

Pursing her lips, her expression hardened, she says, "I don't want you to come and see me anymore, Nathan."

He's been rendered speechless.

"Don't try to come by," she continues, "I'm going to cancel your name from the list and you won't be allowed in. Just stay–"

"Are you crazy?" he finally asks hoarsely, eyes narrowed slightly.

"It's best if you didn't come to see me."

Her eyes are unyielding and cold, her face void of any tenderness.

"Best for whom? I know what you're trying to do, Haley, and it won't work."

Her jaw is ticking as she just stares at him.

"I mean it, Nathan. Go home and…stay home," she whispers behind the Plexiglas shield, jaw set.

And then she hangs up, pushing back her chair to stand.

He stands up so fast that the chair tips over. "Haley!"

Starting for the door, she doesn't look back, her stance rigid as stone.

"HALEY!"

She's gone, not even giving him a sideways glance.

"HALEY!"

A hand on his shoulder turns him around.

"Sir, you're disturbing the peace."

The burly guard is now standing behind him, beady eyes unblinking.

"I want to see my wife!" he growls angrily.

"You've already seen her. You need to go."

"She just–"

He turns to look through the door she disappeared into, shouting her name desperately like it will bring her back.

"Haley!"

"Sir, I won't ask again. You'll be leaving here unconscious if you don't leave right now."

What is it with all these law enforcement officers and their threats?

With a long glance at the guard, he replaces the phone in its cradle violently.

"FUCK!"

* * *

Struggling to control her tears, Haley stands stiffly as the guard pats her down before she's allowed back into the cell unit.

She's crying openly as she races into her cell, leaning her arms on Selena's bed and sobbing deeply.

She's grateful that her cell mate is not around to see her fall apart and laugh in her face for it.

Replaying in her mind is every moment that happened since she saw him on the other side of the booth.

The bandage on his brow, the tired eyes and the bags under them are all because of her.

She cries for him, she cries for their baby, the baby she'll have to give up when she gives birth in this hellhole.

Pushing away from Selena's bunk, she leans down to drag her own beddings, throwing them on the floor and kicking at them repeatedly.

She wants him to have a good life and when he's tied to her, he never will.

His dream is to go to Duke and play basketball, and then make it into the NBA. He can't do that if he's still married to her, a convicted murderer who will be behind bars for fifteen, twenty-five or forty-five years.

Drawing in a shuddering breath, she wipes at her eyes with the backs of her hands.

The only way he can get on with his life is for her to let him go.

"Pick those up, Scott," the guard says as she passes by the cell after a quick glance in.

"And get your ass out to the yard."

Haley bends over slightly, swabbing at her wet eyes with the hem of her shirt.

Sniffling, she gives the beddings one more kick, the rippling pain that shoots through her body making her choke out a cuss.

The whiff of cigarette smoke then drifts into the room.

"Y-you gotta stop doing that, Jean," Haley says softly, blinking hard to stop crying again. "I don't think they're coming after me."

She turns to face her, adding, "Your lurking is making sure of that."

Jean laughs mirthlessly, picking up the pillow from the floor.

"Bad day?"

Haley's smile is pinched as she grabs her blanket to shake it out. She holds back a grimace as a hot pain zaps at her lower back.

"You could say that."

They make the bed in silence, Haley taking her time, when it would normally take her less than a minute.

It still makes her wary when Jean gives her those intense gazes, but after that lousy night in the bathroom, she's the only friend Haley has in prison.

"Shouldn't you be out in the yard?" she asks after they're done, her cheek resting on Selena's blanket.

Jean folds her arms on the blanket, chin resting on her wrist. "I had a visitor."

"Anyone special?" Haley teases with a smile.

Jean grins, turning her face towards her, her dark grey eyes shining and clear. "You could say that."

Their short chuckles linger around for a moment before Jean asks, "That was your husband?"

Haley sighs loudly, her puffy eyes shutting fleetingly. "Yeah. Was."

Jean looks like she wants to say more. Instead, she moves away from the cot, saying, "I gotta get to my game."

"Is it always that…strange?" Haley asks as she stretches her arms, trying to soothe her burning muscles.

As they exit the cell, Jean's laugh bounces in the quiet unit.

"Always. Win or die."

* * *

Still in a murderous rage, Nathan slams his palm down on the steering wheel, breathing so hard that he can feel his hot breath swirling around him.

His palms hurt from being smashed on the wheel throughout the drive from Pleasant Hill, but the stinging is dim compared to the distress he's feeling.

"_I don't want you to come and see me anymore."_

What was she thinking, telling him that and then just up and leaving?

Leaning his elbow on the open window, he looks out at the apartment complex, jaw ticking.

Every day he's been coming home since Haley was arrested, he has been dreading going into the apartment.

It's just lonely and empty, no matter how many appliances he turns on to drown that uncomely stillness.

They've been married for two years, and over that time, sometimes it scares him that there's someone in his life that he's so bound to.

It's not once or twice that he's driven home when they've had a game out of town, preferring to slink into their bed at some odd hour of the night beside Haley, rather than crash in some hotel room.

Heart, body and soul. He gave away his body a lot since that summer before his fourteenth birthday, but nobody ever got close to claiming his heart.

Like in a sneak attack, Haley James swiftly snagged all those parts of him in their junior year, laying her claim on all those pieces he had kept to himself.

Willingly, he let her, he let her have them all; she was worth it.

"_I don't want you to come and see me anymore."_

In just a few words, she wants to break him.

He rubs a hand across his face, unclasping the seat belt and stepping out of the SUV.

Whipping out his cell phone, he sends Lucas a message, asking him if they can meet at the River Court, and if possible to round up the other guys.

He needs to clear his head.

He needs to feel the rush that comes with running up and down a basketball court.

He needs to stop thinking about what his wife asked of him because in his conclusion, she doesn't mean it.

She can't mean to break things off between them with ten little words.


	11. Chapter 11

"Would you like something to drink?" Christopher asks as he sinks into his swivel chair behind the large oak desk.

"I can ask Tracy to make it."

It's the first time Nathan has been to the lawyer's office, all their conversations having been over the phone.

The room is stylish and brilliantly lit, thanks to the wall-to-ceiling window that overlooks the street from five floors up, sunlight gleaming off the marble floor.

Expensive-looking oil paintings decorate the white walls, and there are framed diplomas from three different universities hanging beside the long bookcase.

A black leather couch is pushed against the wall behind the door, and two matching single leather chairs flag it.

Nathan wonders how much Christopher charges per hour to afford all this. If he weren't taking them on a pro bono basis, there's no doubt in his mind that he'd be out in the courtyard of their apartment building running a yard sale.

Or donating blood for money.

"Um, no. I'm fine. You said you had something to tell me?"

Nathan wrings his hands nervously, anxious about whatever the lawyer is going to say.

"The D.A. wants to make a deal."

"Another deal?"

"Same one. A guilty plea for a sentence reduction, no trial."

"But she's not guilty."

"Haley is considering it."

He feels like he's been hit and run over by a truck. The last time they spoke, just three days ago, he was sure that she was not going to think twice about taking the plea.

"W-what? Why?"

Christopher leans back in his chair. "She says she's tired. She'd rather take the deal than get a heavier sentencing from a jury."

"But sh–"

"Not guilty. We need evidence to prove it. If we don't, she will take the deal, and then they'll want to transfer her elsewhere."

"Where?"

Christopher pauses. "Georgia. Wynnebay Penitentiary."

"Georgia?"

"Because she's pregnant, they can't move her. But once the baby is born, they can do whatever they want. Wynnebay is considered a haven for troublemakers."

"Troublemakers?"

"Her first strike was being in the infirmary days after she arrived. There have been reports that she's harassing an inmate. Those are red flags for them and they don't look too kindly on that."

"It wasn't her fault!" he spits. "She was attacked! She's the one being harassed!"

Taking a deep breath, Nathan stands, staring at the lawyer like he's sprouted three heads.

"Have you met my wife, Christopher? She plays by the rules. For God's sake, she's never even jaywalked or gotten a ticket. She is _not_ a troublemaker."

Something seems to click in place when he's done.

"Georgia? They have no right to do that! What kind of prison transfers inmates like they're switching schools?"

"I'm afraid that this is how the North Carolina system works. When an inmate is a threat to another inmate's life, they have the right to push for a transfer."

"Holy shit."

He slumps down onto the leather couch, his head falling into his hands.

"Let's not get ahead of ourselves. I'm advising her highly against taking this deal. Declaring herself guilty when she's not will just do more damage."

Nathan is shaken by the news that Haley is seriously thinking of opting for years in prison.

He wishes that he could drive out to the prison to see her, but unfortunately, he can't. He has to wait until next week.

"There's something else."

Christopher pulls out a thin bundle of papers from a yellow envelope, pushing it across the desk towards Nathan.

Nathan wonders what other horrible news is waiting to be read within those papers.

"What is it?"

"Haley told me to give them to you."

He grabs the papers hungrily, like he's savouring whatever bit of contact he has with her.

There's an orange post-it note attached to the document with writing on it. Her handwriting.

_I'm sorry_.

What is she sorry for? It's not her fault that this shit happened.

"What the hell is this?" he asks in disbelief as he stands slowly, scrolling down the top page, his eyes now wide with horror.

Christopher doesn't reply.

"What the _fuck_ is this!?" Nathan roars, throwing the document on the table.

"She asked me to draw them up. Naturally, the baby will be handed over to you once it's born," Christopher says, flipping the pages and pointing to a paragraph someplace in the middle.

"Is she crazy!? Why would you oblige her!?" he yells angrily.

"She's my client and I have to do what she wants, Nathan."

"It's what she– Of course it's not what she wants! She just thinks that this is what she wants! I need to see her."

"You can't. The–"

"I know. Thursday."

He's so furious that his jaw is ticking, and the motion is making his side hurt.

"Are you alright?" Christopher asks.

Nathan looks up from the papers, noticing that his hand is rubbing at his ribcage, where the stitches are.

"I'm fine," he says, dropping his hand. He winces slightly when the soreness seems to travel to his back.

Swiping a pen from Christopher's desk, he scribbles on the dotted line on the last page, fuming as he bangs it back on the table.

Without a word, he walks out the door, slamming it behind him.

In the next second, the door is flying open and Nathan marches up to the table, grabbing the papers violently.

"Don't you dare take me off that damn list," he growls, pointing at Christopher's face with the clump of papers.

Fuming as he leaves the office, Nathan throws dagger looks at everyone who makes eye contact with him.

Throughout the elevator ride, the papers are held in his hand in a vice grip so tight that his fist is pale.

Muttering and cussing, he drives out of the lot, not even aware of where he's going.

Even in his fury, he knows that her initiation of the papers is purely out of fear.

She's scared that he'll leave her if she stays in prison any longer. She's scared that this whole shitstorm will affect his life.

When he thinks of her fear, his body seems to calm down some, but not enough to take the edge off.

His life is with her, whether she's in prison or not. He wishes he could see her right now and shake her out of making any rash decisions that will cost them everything.

The neon lights on a sign draw his attention.

He makes a sharp exit, leaving continuous hooting from irate drivers at his sudden move.

Rolling to a stop, he peers into the liquor store, trying to see the cashier through the grimy window.

A Mohawk is in sight and it belongs to someone…female.

If there's ever a time that he needs to flash a false smirk for a gigantic bottle of cheap whiskey, it's now.

Screw being underage. He needs a drink.

* * *

The exhaustion is making her drowsy, curled up in a corner of one of the beat-up couches in the lounge room.

The exhaustion of being jumpy whenever someone sneaks up behind her, the exhaustion of spending endless hours in NCCo with nothing much to do, the exhaustion of thinking and overthinking the enormous catastrophe that is her life.

It's a large-enough lounge room, worn couches, armchairs and padded benches scattered around. The few times Haley has passed by it, it's almost always empty.

An old movie is playing, one of those black and white movies that she's seen a couple of times with Lucas.

Every fortnight since freshman year in high school, they'd score tickets to the weekly old movies' night at the theatre.

The regularity of their standing date had dwindled in the latter part of junior year.

He had asked Peyton out, finally, and she'd drag him to gallery openings and art events. For her, she had Nathan who'd drag her to parts of the state that she'd never even heard of for dinners and adventure dates.

Dragging would be too strong a word but they'd both found amazing people to spend time with other than each other.

Neither of them had minded the change of the routine but despite all that was going on in their lives, they found a way to do something together. Even if it was just grabbing coffee and walking aimlessly around town for an hour.

Last Friday, they were meant to play mini-golf. Funny how the world craps all over well-laid plans.

Sighing wistfully, Haley tucks her arms under her head, eyelids getting heavy.

She misses her normal, laid-back life.

It doesn't feel like she's been asleep for a minute before someone plops down beside her, the hard motion jerking her awake.

"How was the class?" Selena asks, staring ahead at the TV.

"Okay," Haley answers guardedly.

Usually, Selena doesn't bother to speak to her when they're out of the cell. She may as well be invisible to her in the yard or the dining hall.

"Are you learning how to change diapers or what?"

She's still not looking at Haley, eyes transfixed on the screen.

Haley sits up straighter, turning slightly to face Selena.

"Just nutrition. I don't think they're going to teach us about diapers."

Considering that she'll not have a chance to see her baby for any longer than a minute, a diaper changing session in the maternity health class is not in the curriculum.

"Is there something wrong?" Haley asks a little too glumly, miserable at the thought of giving up her child.

Selena eventually looks at her, the silvery strand of hair tucked behind her ear brushing at the collar of her shirt.

"You got a job at the library."

Processing what Selena has said, Haley stammers, "What? I never–"

Realization dawns on her when Selena raises a thick brow.

"Oh."

"Oh. You're making the right kind of friends, Scott," Selena smirks flatly.

Her expression then hardens, twisting her body to face Haley.

"You may be my cellmate but the library is my turf. I run it. I won't give you any special treatment so you better not screw up," she warns.

Haley can only nod, sending Jean a hundred thanks telekinetically. She has a job to keep her busy at last, even if it's for a couple of hours.

With books no less. She loves books.

Selena is not done. "It may be one of the easiest jobs here but it doesn't mean that you can do it half-ass, you hear me?"

Nodding again, Haley can't help but smile broadly.

"When do I start?"

Selena narrows her eyes further, standing up fast. "Tomorrow."

"Same time that you–"

Selena's already gone.

"Okay. Thank you!"

* * *

"Heresh to a bullsh-shit life," he mumbles, taking another long, slow swig from the bottle, the whiskey no longer burning since his first sip hours ago.

Seated on the wooden table, feet planted on the seat below, Nathan looks out into the water, watching the lights from the buildings on the other side of the docks.

Fishermen are yelling about lobsters, their loud voices carrying over the horns of the boats and the evening quiet.

Placing the bottle on the table, he grabs the papers beside him, staring at the post-it note over the bunch.

She's sorry.

She's sorry for treating their marriage so _flippantly_ and throwing him under the bus?

She's sorry for giving up their baby?

She's sorry for shredding his heart into neat little slices?

She's sorry for loving him?

Using the light from a flickering street lamp a few tables away, he reads through the papers again for the dozenth time.

Christopher wrote them up in such a simple language that even in his inebriated condition, he can understand the bottom line.

A divorce.

She wants a fucking divorce.

Snorting, he drops the papers, snatching up the bottle and gulping down a sip.

He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, letting out a low belch.

There's an itch along his ribcage that makes him want to scratch at it until he gets to the bone but he doesn't; the alcohol will numb it eventually.

To add salt, pepper and antiseptic to the wound, Haley wants to divorce him.

He has to give it up to her for being so cunning as to let Christopher serve him the papers when her weekly visiting day had passed.

Elbows resting on knees, he stares down at the table, locating the initials scratched into a corner of it.

Through rain, sun and sleet, those initials have never faded. The table may have lost some of its shine over the years but those small letters are always there, a constant that will always be as long as the table is standing.

His forefinger traces over the NS+HJS, remembering Haley writing them using a compass during one of their geometry tutor sessions.

At the time, it was only HJ but after they got married, he added the S. He tried to make it as curvy as the other engraved letters but it looks like someone hacked at it with a butcher knife.

Closing his eyes, he exhales, taking a final healthy swig and draining the bottle empty.

He stands carefully, wobbly some, and with a loud roar, he throws the bottle out into the water.

Swaying on his feet, he plunks back down on the table, his fingers digging through his hair in frustration.

It strikes him as funny everything that's happened the past three weeks.

Hysterical laughter burbles just below the surface.

A short chortle passes his lips, a strange smile breaking on his face.

The chuckles lead to guffaws that make his shoulders shake, everything he's thinking about sounding hilarious.

Haley, pregnant and in prison, him getting chased down a highway and ending up in hospital, Haley being jumped in a prison bathroom, Haley telling him not to visit and then asking for a divorce.

It's all so strangely funny that wetness clings to his lashes.

With a final soft laugh, he reaches to wipe at his eyes, feeling the wetness beginning to roll down his cheek.

Gritting his teeth, he lets the tears fall as he stares into the water, missing his wife like crazy, furious with her like crazy.

Using the sleeve of his shirt, he finally wipes them away, sniffling once before sliding off the table.

Even when she's given up on herself, he won't give up on her. He can't. He loves her too much to let her go so easily.

Grabbing the papers, he tucks them under his arm and stuffs his hands into his pockets, starting an unsteady walk towards the bus stop.


	12. Chapter 12

When he slams the locker door shut, the sound crashes like thunder around him, upsetting the relative calmness in his head.

Nathan groans, gulping down the nausea that's climbed up his throat.

It's been a while since his last hangover and he'd forgotten just how crappy drinking makes him feel.

He swears that he's still half-drunk, even with the painkillers and cold shower he took.

The entire bottle of whiskey may have provided an escape from his problems yesterday but today, the problems are still there, with a sprinkling of a mad hangover.

"Look who decided to make it to work."

A trickle of dread glides through him. Every muscle in his body tense, he cusses silently before turning around slowly.

"I had a doctor's appointment," he says smoothly, running a palm across his haggard face.

If a doctor's appointment was taking the bus to the docks to get his car, fighting nausea with the motion of the vehicle.

"So early in the morning?" the manager counters, brow raised.

"Only time the doctor was available. And I'm only fifteen minutes late."

Hands behind his back like a military sergeant, the manager studies him carefully.

"You are on very thin ice, Scott. Very, very thin. One more strike and you're fired."

"Firing me would be a start to a very tiring lawsuit for both of us, sir," he says bluntly.

The older man's jaw clenches, his glare like a burning rod.

"What did you say?"

Nathan shrugs, uncaring at how everything will go after this conversation.

"I was in a car accident recently that I've not fully recovered from. If you fired me, I would plead forced labour and discrimination, pointing out that you did not grant me adequate leave and you made me work when I was incapacitated."

He's bluffing, churning out a lot of bullshit, but his lips can't stop moving.

"Forcing a sick man who had surgery to work before he fully recovered?"

He holds himself back from making a disapproving noise.

"I don't think the big boys upstairs would appreciate that kind of press."

The manager looks just about ready to club him.

Face reddened, he commands through clenched teeth, anger edged into his tone, "Get. To. Work."

"Yes, sir."

His cell phone starts to ring as he brushes past the manager, the trilling making him flinch with its uncharacteristic loudness.

Without looking at it, he draws it out of his pocket, leaning back on the wall a few feet away from the break room.

"Hello?"

Static hisses over the line.

He glances at the call display; the small screen shows a blocked number.

Frowning, he holds it up to his ear again.

"Hello? Who is this?"

The response is only more silence and yet another burst of static.

He's about to hang up when he hears something that sounds like heavy breathing.

"Luke? Is that–"

"_Catch me,"_ an unfamiliar female voice chuckles from the other end.

A cold touch slithers over him, shattering all exhaustion he's feeling.

Teeth gritted, fists curled, he pushes away from the wall, begrudging fury starting to run through him.

"What do you want?" he asks nastily.

"_Catch me,"_ the throaty voice says again.

The line clicks off and goes dead.

He wants to shove it back into his pocket and dismiss the call.

"Detective, it's Nathan Scott. Do you have a moment?"

* * *

The brightness of the sun stings her eyelids when she steps out of the cell unit.

As usual, inmates are in groups and pairs around the yard. Everyone is doing what they typically do at this time; some are lifting weights, some are playing cards, some are running on the track, most are just sitting and talking.

Rubbing at the point where the doctor withdrew her blood during the checkup a few minutes ago, Haley starts walking slowly towards the bleachers.

That attack did a number on her; the throbbing and tingling has dulled over the days but sometimes she winces when she walks.

A lot of that pain has been along her back, and she's glad that it's nothing in the front. If any of those kicks had hit her in the stomach…

She shuts her eyes briefly as that fear creeps over her, the fear that she could have lost her baby, never getting a chance to know him.

Automatically, her hand reaches to rub at her belly. In recognition of where she is, she drops her arm, curling her hand into a fist by her side.

Her pregnancy is not obvious but if more people were to know about it, people who want to hurt her or kill her, it wouldn't be a festive celebration.

The bleachers next to the basketball are partly filled, and there's no sign of Tess.

Since that confrontation with Tess on the bleachers, she's stayed out of the court, opting to hang around the track or by the fence.

But she had a bout of morning sickness in the infirmary that's left her weak, and she wants somewhere solid to sit other than on the grass.

As she passes the inmates standing by the weights area, with their well muscled arms and intimidating presence, they give her a quick nod when they meet eyes.

It strikes her as odd since she's been nothing but invisible to them, except when she's about to get into a fight.

She gives them a slight smile in return, aiming for the bottom bleacher. There's no way she can manage bending one knee after another to climb up the stands. Tess will just have to drag her away screaming if she's in her 'spot' again.

The inmates at the bleachers nod at her, too, and she returns the greeting.

She rubs her palms down the orange pants, breathing in and out.

Fading pain at the backs of her thighs strums through her; she could really use one of Nathan's massages right about now.

Her hands still, shame and anger at herself starting to pulse through her.

It was a drastic decision on her part, asking him to stay away, but seeing the marks those goons had left on him had snapped something in her.

The look on his face when she asked him, _told _him, not to return was like a double-edged sword to her soul.

By now, Christopher has served him the papers. After two years of marriage, she never thought that she would be asking Nathan for a divorce.

This mess has broken her, and it's led her to breaking her marriage and having her husband hate her.

A tap on her shoulder takes her out of her mournful thoughts.

"Haley, right?" the lanky woman a bleacher above her asks.

"Yeah," she answers, flinching inwardly as she twists in her seat, her butt aching.

She's just noticing that everyone on the stands is looking at her.

Being Nathan Scott's girlfriend, and then wife, she recognizes that silence and those probing gazes.

She knew how to handle them, by ignoring them, when schoolmates and peers threw them at her, but in this new orbit, she really doesn't know how to deal with them.

The lanky woman nods, turning to her companion.

"It's her. Jean's girl," the woman says in a loud whisper.

Haley shrinks back when she hears that, whipping her head to face forward.

Jean's girl?

Her eyes turn to the basketball court, finding Jean in her customary white vest dribbling down the court.

They've been talking, and sometimes Jean will sit with her at the losers' table during meals. At her insistence, Jean has eased up on hiding in corners, watching and waiting to see if someone else will attack her.

The price of a friendship with Jean Sponberg is a new nickname that portrays ownership.

Sighing softly, Haley glances around the yard, locating some sort of commotion at a corner near the fence.

She recognizes some of the faces, belonging to inmates in Jean's clique.

A vociferous laugh abounds from the group, some of the inmates parting slightly as if to let someone through.

Tess then emerges, pushing past the laughing women.

Haley gasps, unable to turn away from the fresh bruises on Tess's face; a black eye and a busted, swollen lip. The petite girl is also limping as she walks towards the track.

"Oh my God."

It doesn't take being a detective to figure out who had done that to her.

It's been over a week since the attack in the bathroom and although Tess has been keeping her distance, that murderous look in her eyes when she sees Haley is never gone.

She stands abruptly from the bleachers, making her way towards the edge of the court. She can feel those gazes boring holes into her back but she doesn't turn around to confirm it.

The basketball game is as rough as it often is, inmates shouting and cussing at each other.

Holding the ball, Jean elbows the player behind her before passing the ball.

"The hell, J?" the player bellows, pushing Jean forward.

"Payback's a bitch and she's always in heat, Nita," Jean laughs, moving away.

When she notices Haley, she yells at one of the women in her clique to sub before jogging over to the edge of the court.

"You want in?" Jean pants.

"With the way I feel?" Haley replies with a small smile.

Jean laughs softly, touching her elbow and leading them towards the chain link fence.

"What's up?" she asks, linking her fingers through the fence.

Looking past the fence at the track, Haley spots Tess sitting by herself on the grass, her fingers plucking out blades by the fistfuls.

"I saw Tess," she states, turning to Jean.

Jean shrugs, pulling out a pack of cigarettes from her pocket.

Grabbing the pack, Haley asks, "Did you do that to her?"

"You have some serious balls, sweetheart," Jean says with that smirk of hers, looking at the cigarette packet in Haley's hand.

"What?"

Confused, Haley follows Jean's gaze, giving back the cigarettes.

"Right. Sorry. You've not answered my question, Jean. Did you hurt her?"

"Some," she mumbles, a cigarette between her lips.

Haley sighs loudly, leaning on the fence and looking at Tess again.

The brunette is staring at them, the motion of her fists increasing as she digs out more and more grass. She looks like a disgruntled child.

"I don't know whether to thank you or be angry with you."

That act of retaliation reminds her of Nathan doing the same for her with one Damien West.

There has always been bad blood between Nathan and Damien, and when Damien said unsavory things to her after a game, when Damien added a slap to her ass, Nathan wiped the floor with him.

Haley faces Jean, saying softly, genuinely, "Thanks."

Jean observes her closely, lighter poised over the tip of the cigarette before she rethinks lighting up.

"Tess is like a disobedient kid and that gets her into a lot of trouble," she explains, replacing the cigarette in the pack.

"She took advantage of…our relationship, and I got tired of bailing her out of those messes she'd make."

"Why is she here?" Haley asks curiously.

Jean doesn't respond, like she's battling with an answer, as if even with their falling out she wouldn't want to betray Tess.

"Family stuff," Jean finally says. "She likes attention and when she doesn't get it, she does something stupid about it."

Jean sighs, taking out the cigarette again and lighting it quickly.

She puffs the smoke away from Haley, drawing in a long breath.

"She wasn't worth all the trouble I went to for her. But as pigheaded as she is, she's an alright kid."

Haley wonders what kind of story Jean would tell about her if they fell out.

"_I felt sorry for her, poor pregnant girl. Too bad her badmouthing ways led her to being stabbed to death with a comb. Can you believe that she has a kid?"_

Jean's laughter nudges her out of her shady imagination.

"You're like an open book, pretty girl. You and Tess are completely different."

With a wink, Jean leans in and says, "Does this mean that you're starting to really like me?"

Haley's laugh is as boisterous as those she's heard around the prison. It feels good to laugh for real.

"Really become Jean's girl?"

"Is that what they're calling you?" Jean grins. "It's not so bad."

Haley lets out a nervous chuckle, staring vacantly over Jean's shoulder.

She feels Jean's hand brush her arm lightly.

"Don't worry about Tess. She'll back off."

Haley just gazes back at Jean's tanned face. Tess is not what she's primarily worried about. She should be, but she's really not.

There's the issue of her impending divorce.

There's the issue of Jean wanting her to be more than a friend.

And then there's the issue of spending eternity behind bars.

* * *

"I saw your father today," Deb says, placing a steaming bowl of vegetable soup and slices of wheat bread before him.

Chin propped in his hand, Nathan stares into the bowl, scrutinizing the contents of the soup.

"What am I supposed to do with this?" he asks, raising his eyes to his mother.

She gives him a knowing look, pushing the plate of bread forward a little further.

"You're recovering from surgery. Burgers are still out of the question like they were yesterday, and the day before that."

"Surgery on my spleen, Mom, not my heart," he grumbles, poising the spoon over the bowl and staring down at the concoction.

"Nothing is alive and kicking in it, Nate," his mother drawls in a smooth tone.

Grimacing, Nathan stirs the soup before taking a tentative bite.

"Better than yesterday," he smirks before taking another bite.

Deb grins, flinging the wipe cloth on her shoulder and moving towards the cash register.

"You're welcome. As I was saying, I ran into your father today."

Grunting noncommittally, Nathan pulls out the bottle of pills from his pocket, shaking out two onto his palm.

"He was handing out flyers for his campaign."

She scoffs, pushing back the cash register with too much force.

"I couldn't believe that he was actually doing his own dirty work. Of course, Dan being Dan, he had to throw a dig at me."

The receipts in her hand curl up in her grip.

"Just ignore it. A leopard will never change its spots."

Deb raises a brow in question.

"It's a given that sometimes I'll speak like Haley," he explains, reaching for a bread slice.

"You mean like the way it's a given that sometimes Haley will speak like you?"

He hasn't told anyone about the divorce papers. Partly because he wants to talk to Haley first and partly because talking about it will be a way of accepting the reality of it going through. And he, for one, is not willing to let it go through.

"Yeah."

They go about their business in silence, her sorting out the day's receipts and him lost in thoughts of his wife while taking spoonfuls of soup.

The chimes above the café's doors jingle, the sounds ripping through the quiet.

Lucas and Peyton stop a little beyond the door, both looking quite sheepish.

"Hey. Your car's ready."

Luke's eyeballs are extended like he's trying to see the back of his head.

When Nathan was discharged, Deb gave him a choice, to either come down to the café for dinner or she'd be dropping by at his apartment.

He quickly agreed to the former, throwing Lucas into the agreement.

"Thanks. Everything okay?" Nathan asks, not missing his brother's weird behaviour.

Before Lucas can answer, two figures walk through the door, pushing past him and Peyton.

Haley's parents.

The spoon in Nathan's hands falls into the bowl with a clatter.

"Shit," he mutters under his breath without moving his lips.

After the day he's had, this is the icing on the cake.

They look furious, Lydia James with her hands on her hips, Jimmy James with his fists clenched by his sides.

"Where do you go off not telling us that our daughter is in prison?" Jimmy growls angrily, his hazel eyes blazing.

"Prison, Nathan!" Lydia yells, her words bouncing around the café.

Deb is the first to recover, moving away from behind the counter to walk towards the irate in-laws.

"Jimmy. Lydia. How nice to see you."

Not returning the pleasantries, Lydia shakes her head vehemently.

"Deb, when we gave our daughter's hand in marriage to your son, we didn't mean that we were not privy to some things."

"I completely un–"

"Let's not forget that they were only sixteen years old," she almost screams, "and still in high school! But we were okay with it. This, this is not okay!"

"Haley didn't want you to know," Nathan says, deflecting her attention away from his mother.

Like she's been slapped, Lydia blinks once before asking, "What?"

Nathan shrugs slightly, like in that small move he's saying, I know, right?

Lydia recovers enough to start sputtering again.

"You could have still told us!"

Jimmy jumps in, with Deb trying to calm them both down, Nathan explaining Haley's decision, and Lucas injecting his opinion on what was right and what was wrong.

Their voices grow louder, everyone trying to up everyone else in volume to make their point.

A piercing whistle then cuts across the room, so sharp and shrill that they reach for their ears.

"EVERYBODY SHUT UP!"

Putting her fingers down from her lips, Peyton holds her palms up, shooting them all a weighty look.

"Sit down," she orders, pointing to one of the larger tables.

Like disobedient children, they shuffle towards the centre of the room, tension and accusatory glances still rife.

Pulling Lucas aside, Nathan mutters, "Haven't you heard of a cell phone? It's that thing you use to call me when you see a meteor crashing towards earth."

"I didn't have time. They just came out of nowhere when we got here and then bam!"

"Bam?" Nathan echoes, raising an eyebrow. "You panicked, didn't you?"

Lucas snorts, rubbing his nose. "As if."


	13. Chapter 13

In the far end of the prison library, Haley pushes a cart full of returned books, looking up at the shelves for the row she's after.

She hums softly under her breath as she reshelves the books, trying to be as quiet as possible in the ominous silence.

Inmates in the library take their silence seriously, most of them being GED or college class students studying diligently.

She dropped a pile of books yesterday and it sounded like a bomb had gone off. The inmates in the vicinity all threw her such dark glares that it shook her.

Prison has made her so paranoid and jumpy, thinking that every negative expression will lead into someone drawing a knife from behind their back and sticking it into her for the smallest error.

Selena hasn't complained about her work so far, but she always seems to be waiting to point out something she's done wrong.

Without turning around, she reaches for the remaining books on the cart, her hand brushing against someone.

She leaps a foot off the ground with a shriek, leaning on the wall as her heart thuds madly.

"What the hell, Jean? You almost gave me a heart attack!"

The tall woman shakes her head in amusement, holding out the book in her hands.

"I wasn't trying to sneak up on you."

Breathing out heavily, Haley lays a hand over her rapidly-beating heart.

"Are you sure about that?"

Jean grins lazily, leaning on a shelf as she watches Haley sorting out the books.

Feeling apprehensive about the silence between them, Haley glances over her shoulder.

"Everything okay?"

The smile on Jean's face transforms into a wide grin.

"How do you like the job assignment?"

Nodding, Haley pushes a book forcefully between others with a grunt.

"It's good. Thanks again for helping me out."

"Selena owed me."

Straightening her khaki shirt, Haley blows wayward strands from her face.

"Lucky me," she grins, closing her eyes and resting her head on the cold wall.

"It's so hot today," she adds, fanning her face with her hand.

Unbeknownst to Haley, Jean is gawking at her body greedily like she wants to devour her.

At the strange stillness, Haley opens her eyes to meet Jean's gaze.

Her eyes widen in alarm at Jean's intense gaze as she slowly closes the distance between them.

Back flat against the wall, Haley's heart trips when Jean leans over her, standing too close for comfort.

The faint scent of marijuana rises around her.

"What…what are you doing?" she stammers, shrinking back a little.

Jean's eyes appear glassy as she scans Haley's face.

"You don't know how good you make me feel," she says gruffly, her hand rising to Haley's cheek.

The low tone and warm breath tickling her skin make Haley lightheaded.

"Jean, no."

Jean wraps her hand around Haley's wrist securely, her thumb starting to trail gradually in circles.

"So sweet, so innocent."

Staying still, Haley feels her eyes mist and her knees quake.

She's terrified.

"Stop it."

Like she hasn't heard her, Jean takes another step forward, her free hand going around to the small of Haley's back.

She pants out a breath, spilling it over Haley's neck, drawing even closer to Haley, thigh to thigh.

"I can't."

"P-please don't," Haley begs in a scared whimper, shutting her eyes slowly.

Her skin is crawling as she pushes against Jean but the older woman doesn't budge, her grip on Haley's wrist tightening. She's twice Haley's size.

"Why don't you like me?" Jean throws back, her lips grazing Haley's neck.

The dark terror of being trapped rips through her, tears trailing down her cheeks.

Jean's breathing intensifies, a flaming so horrible that Haley wishes she could shower with antiseptic.

Intending to scream, she opens her mouth, but her voice trails off in a raw whisper.

She starts sobbing audibly, trying to draw in air through her constricted, painful throat.

She feels Jean loosen her hands from around her, a mild breeze sweeping across her face as Jean steps back from her.

She doesn't open her eyes to see whether Jean is there or not, wrapping her arms around her waist and sliding helplessly to the floor against the wall with a painful moan.

Like a child, she starts rocking back and forth, trying to shut out what just happened.

She feels naïve and stupid.

She feels ashamed and so violated that she wants to throw up.

And there's no way to escape it.

To her, hours have passed since Jean left, but it's only been a few minutes.

She tenses up when footsteps start to approach, her mind reeling with thoughts of fleeing when Jean tries to–

"You better not be taking a nap," Selena snaps from above her.

Without looking up, Haley nods, maneuvering herself sideways from Selena seeing her tears.

"There are more books waiting at the front desk. Don't make me come back here."

She nods again, holding her breath as Selena retreats.

When she's gone, Haley finally opens her eyes, staring vacantly at a shelf of books.

She should have known better than to believe that Jean wouldn't attempt something so horrible.

* * *

Agitatedly, Nathan stares at the door leading into the confines of the prison, waiting to confront his wife on trying to wiggle her way out of his life.

He hadn't thought that she would go so far, he hadn't thought that she was willing to let him go just because of this…speed bump.

A speed bump is what it is, a test of how well they can take it, how well they can handle it without splitting up.

Looking down the long row of booths, his eyes fall to the women in orange jumpsuits on the other side.

Most of them are older than Haley, and it strikes him just how difficult it must be for her to be so young in a place with women who are as old as their mother's ages.

Is someone looking out for her? Is someone who has been in this place for a longer time watching her back?

God, he hopes so.

Any minute now, she'll be walking out that door. Unless she refuses to see him. It's highly unlikely she thinks he's the one visiting, after he asked Christopher to lie to her that his name had been crossed off the list. For all she knows, it could be Lucas or Peyton paying her a visit.

He takes a quick glance over his shoulder at the metal bench near the entrance.

Lydia and Jimmy are seated side by side, heads leaning close as they speak softly while looking around the room.

He catches Jimmy's eye just as the buzzer rings loudly.

They share a brief nod and turning away, Nathan's heart seems to drop to his feet, hammering rapidly at an impossible speed.

His hands feel suddenly clammy, like they were on that day he was meeting her for their first tutor session.

Her pace is slow, but eventually, he sees the top of her head, the honey-blonde tresses he loves running his fingers through pulled back into a ponytail that is bouncing slightly as she walks.

Finally, she gets to their booth, and at the sight of him, she halts in her step.

If he hadn't been paying close attention, he would have missed it.

He would have missed seeing her brown eyes light up, and he would have missed seeing the corners of her pink mouth lift up in a smile.

In an instant, both looks are gone and her face smoothens out, masking any traces of joyous emotion.

"Keep moving, Scott," the guard orders from the door.

Sliding into the chair, Haley reaches for the receiver as Nathan does his, her hand poising over it for a moment before lifting it off the cradle.

"What are you doing here?" she asks, her voice scratchy and throaty.

There are traces of red in her eyes, her face looks paler than usual, and her cheeks are sunken.

He dives right in. "Are you trying to kill me?"

Without answering, she gazes at him coolly.

"Divorce papers? Really, Hales? I should feel insulted."

Her shoulders sag as she exhales, her eyes looking over to the yellow envelope in front of him.

"I told you not to come," she says quietly.

He snorts. "Sorry to disappoint you."

"Nathan…"

"And you conveniently decided to have Christopher serve me the papers when you knew that the only day I can visit was over."

"He told me that he crossed you off the list."

"I'm sure you wouldn't have come out here if my name was still there."

"My lawyer lied to me?"

"He didn't. He just let you think that he had done what you'd asked."

She sighs, resting her elbow on the table. "I don't want to fight, Nathan."

"Fighting? Who is fighting?" His voice sounds a pitch higher than usual.

The anger dissipates and the sadness creeps in.

"Why, Hales? Don't you have faith in me anymore? In us?" he asks, feeling like his heart is breaking.

She finally looks up at him, her eyes glistening with tears.

"I-I don't want to put you through this, baby. I can't stand it, knowing that there are people hurting you b-because of me."

"You didn't do anything wrong, Hales."

"They don't care that I didn't! I want you to be safe. I _need_ you to be safe," she weeps.

"And divorcing me will do it?" he growls.

"I don't know! But it's a start!"

"A start to what, more misery? I don't know if you were there when I said my vows but I meant it when I said until death do us part. For better, for worse. As morbid as it is, the only thing that's going to keep us apart is death."

"You forget the bulletproof glass and the armed guards," she adds with a slight smile.

He lets out a sharp laugh, some of the tension leaking out of him as he exhales.

"You're crazy, you know that?"

"I thought that was what you loved about me."

"One of the things I love about you."

She gives him a wan smile before looking down at the envelope again.

"I don't know how long I'm going to be here but I just want you to be okay."

The frustration is back again. "Without you, you mean?"

"If that's what it takes. The baby…he will be given–"

With a choked cry, she lifts a trembling hand to her mouth. A few tears fall from her eyes and it makes Nathan want to cry, too.

"The baby will be home with us. Both of us."

"I-it's been weeks, Nathan. I can't help but feel that my fate has been written. I…I don't want you to be anchored to me when this ship goes down."

She really has given up. It pains him to see her looking so dejected and defeated. It also angers him that the only way to comfort her is through a damn telephone.

"Baby, listen to me. I'm not giving up on you. I need you to have a little faith, okay? I can even work with a smidgen."

She draws out a soft chuckle, wiping her cheeks with the back of her free hand.

"I have some news, Hales."

"What?"

He leans closer to the screen, his eyes darting around as if someone is eavesdropping on the conversation.

"I didn't get to tell you the last time but Detective Collins showed me the video and whoever that girl was is not you."

Sniffling, she raises her head, a shaky smile on her lips. "What?"

He raises his eyebrows repeatedly. "She had a wig on and she didn't have a wedding ring."

"Oh my God."

"I know, right? The evidence is clear but they refuse to let you go," he says with irritation.

Her eyes are redder than before, and the grey circles under them are more pronounced.

"M-maybe they need something more."

"They're not being objective, that's what," he grunts.

"Babe, can you distract me for a while? Just for a minute."

At her pleading tone and facial expression, he breathes out audibly, saying the first thing that comes to his mind.

"I'm working the register now. Brent is not too happy about that."

"That boy has serious issues with you," Haley laughs softly whilst shaking her head.

"Not with me, with himself. He had to pick a fight with me when–"

"He what? And what did you mean by 'now'?"

"I didn't tell you?"

She just about rolls her eyes.

"He was being an asshole. I got moved to unloading but after the accident, I was put on the register."

She's laughing when he tells her about the chat he had with the manager, saying that the man has been keeping his distance for the last week.

"I really hope that he doesn't pee in your coffee or something," she chuckles.

Silence settles over the line as they gaze at each other, her brown eyes wet and filled with worry, his blue ones filled with concern and worry.

"I'm not going anywhere, Hales."

If he could, he would trade places with her in a second.

"Just hang on, and take care of that mustard seed, alright?"

She nods, her lips trembling. "Alright."

Just as he's about to speak again, he feels a hand on his shoulder.

Without looking up, he lets out a long breath, staring at Haley who seems to have grown a shade paler.

He hears her breath catch over the line, her eyes facing up and unwavering on her parents.

"Dad."

Although she looks stunned, he can see her shoulders lower from the relief. As much as she said she didn't want to see them, it's easy to tell that she's happy to see them.

Holding the phone out to Jimmy, Nathan pushes the seat back.

Lydia is crying softly as she takes the seat, taking the receiver from her husband's hand and croaking, "Hi, sweetie."

Nathan moves to the sit on the bench, crossing his arms over his chest as he stares at the floor.

It's been quite a week since the James' got to town. They've grilled him and all of Haley's friends countless times on why they kept something so important from them.

Her mother was on the verge of putting together a care package for Haley before he stopped her.

After that, she wanted all the phone numbers to the prison to give Haley a call.

He can see why Haley didn't want them to know.

Raising his eyes, he observes her from where he is. He can't put his finger on it but he swears that there's something she's not telling him.

She looks tense and edgy, but on the other hand, being locked up is bound to make anyone tense and edgy.

The buzzer goes off and a thunderous voice yells, "TIME'S UP!"

Has it been an hour already?

Nathan straightens, feeling panicked that he won't get to talk to Haley again.

At that moment, Jimmy waves him over.

Like a man pressed for time, he takes long strides to the booth, standing behind the seat as they wrap up with Haley.

"We love you, honey, okay?" Jimmy says, the receiver held between his and Lydia's ears.

Haley nods, biting down on her lips, eyes shimmering with tears.

"Thanks, Dad. I love you, too."

Reluctantly, Lydia extends the receiver to Nathan before moving away from the booth behind Jimmy.

Gripping the headset tightly, Nathan says, "Your parents really know how to do a sneak attack."

She nods, trying to smile but failing.

"I know what I said before but I'm glad they came. Thank you."

"They would have burned me at the stake if I left them behind."

She laughs lowly, wiping at her eyes. "I explained that it was my fault for not telling them and that they shouldn't hold it against you."

"VISITORS! PLEASE EXIT THE ROOM IN A SINGLE FILE!" the loud voice calls out again.

In a small voice, Haley admits, "I – I'm so scared, Nathan. This place…"

Gulping, Nathan stretches out his hand, splaying it on the Plexiglas.

In his head, he's screaming so loudly that windows are shattering.

Haley's hand matches his on the glass.

"I love you so much," she says, crushed that she can't get to touch him the slightest bit.

"I love you," he replies, wishing he could just hold her, even if it's the pad of her finger.

Slowly, she rises from the chair, joining the line of inmates hustling back into the prison.

The receiver is still pressed to his ear as she blows him a kiss and a wave before she's out of his sight.

* * *

Bearing in mind that their names were the absolute last in her visitors' list, Haley is still shell-shocked when she takes one more look at her parents.

Their foreheads are barely visible but she can tell that they're standing there, watching the inmates walk past.

Her father's creased and sun-tanned forehead is inches taller than her mother's bang-covered one.

She meant it when she told Nathan that their visit meant a lot to her; as much as she denied wanting them to know, deep down, a kid still needs her parents. Whether married or imprisoned.

If her child was in the same situation, she would want to know and be there for them.

The worry in her parents' eyes as they spoke overshadowed the betrayal she knows they must have felt.

She walks with the other quiet inmates as they are buzzed through the gates, all the way to the yard.

And Nathan…

If it weren't for the Plexiglas, she would have jumped him and kissed him senseless.

He still came to see her despite the divorce papers. He didn't care that she was poisonous to his future.

She wanted to come clean, speak out loud about what happened a few days ago.

But she couldn't.

She couldn't lay it on him, and there was no way that she would even say a word to her parents about it.

For now, it's her secret to keep, her terror to be on the lookout for in case it happens again.

Like she's summoned her from her thoughts, Jean appears out of nowhere, heading straight for her.

She freezes, her stomach turning to ice as she's sucked back into the library.

As long as she lives and breathes, she cannot forget that heat on her neck when Jean pinned her in place.

It's not been easy trying to act cool when Jean sleeps in the cell across from hers or when Jean approaches her with intention to talk.

Gulping hard, she changes direction quickly, like she's done every time she sees Jean, walking fast towards the track.

She doesn't know how long she's going to be able to do this.


	14. Chapter 14

"Knit gloves? Really?"

"I'm not leaving my fingerprints behind."

"This is not a good idea, Nate."

"You have a better one?"

"Yeah. Let the cops do their job."

"You are seriously not saying that. I had to beg to get that detective to do something. I'm not going to sit by and do nothing while my wife rots in prison."

"What exactly are you hoping to find?"

"I don't know. Something. Anything. When I saw her today, she was so terrified. Someone is pulling off a murder and Haley is getting the fall for it."

"Just be careful, alright? Watch your back."

"And you keep your eyes open. Have you taken your pill?"

"Don't start with me."

"You have a heart problem, Luke. If you skip a pill and someone scares the shit out of you, you could die. I don't want that on my conscience."

"That's what you're worried about? My death on your conscience?"

"Mostly. Your mom would kill me."

"I already took it. Happy?"

"Ecstatic. If anyone finds you, just leave without me. We'll rendezvous at the apartment."

"Rendezvous?"

"Yeah. As in, let's me–"

"I got it. Wasn't something I'd peg you to say."

"You are such an elitist."

* * *

Nathan creeps along the edge of the forest, staying hidden in the shadows.

He really doesn't know what he's after but whatever he'll find at Dwight's home that can take the heat off Haley will be her ticket to freedom.

Edging closer to the trailer park, he stops behind a black cherry tree, darting a gaze around for a sign that there are people still up, night owls who walk their dogs late at night.

The trailers are set up a little apart from each other, like a regular suburban neighbourhood. He is surprised at the arrangement, having expected to find a beat-up place that resembled a junkyard.

Some of the trailers have well-maintained lawns, flowerbeds, and even garden gnomes. Some are not so fancy, their front yards bordering on containing garbage pile.

He counts fifteen trailers in total, all but one completely dark. The single trailer with a sign of life is close to the end of the park, bluish-white light from what is most likely a television flickering intermittently.

From where he's hidden, the yellow letters on the green mailbox of the trailer across the road marks it as number 212. He wants number 202.

Already working up a nervous sweat, he gulps hard, creeping slowly to the backyard of the next trailer.

He moves stealthily from backyard to backyard, staying in the shadows, praying silently that no one has a man-eating dog on the loose in their yard.

Finally, he spots number 202. Unluckily, it's right next to the trailer that has the flickering light from the TV.

With a few quick glances at the quiet neighbourhood, he darts across the street, plastering himself against the cool metal of the trailer.

Panting, he glides against the body of the trailer towards the front door, his eyes on the trailer next door with the TV light.

Yellow ribbons have been taped to the door, declaring boundaries of a police line that should not be crossed.

Reaching between the strips for the door handle, he turns it slowly, the metal squeaking in the dead of night.

"Shut up!" he rebukes it as he looks over his shoulder apprehensively.

The yellow tape has been plastered in such a way that he has no choice but to rip through it to get past.

At the final squeak, he pushes the door open, shredding the tape and darting swiftly into the dark trailer.

Back against the door, heart beating fast, a sweat under his black ski cap, he slows down his breathing enough to think clearly.

He whips out the small flashlight from his pocket, shining it across the stuffy trailer.

In the semidarkness, his eyes wander around, familiarizing himself with the layout. It doesn't look as large as the other trailers he passed.

The living room space only has a couch, a floppy beanbag and an old TV. There is barely enough room for someone to comfortably stretch their legs.

There's a kitchenette flagging the living room, a dish rack on the counter filled haphazardly with utensils and cutlery. Next to the counter is a sink, a two-piece cooking stove and a tea kettle.

Beyond the front of the trailer is an open door that leads to a bedroom, where an unmade futon set up on the floor is in sight.

Unsure of where to look, Nathan starts with the miniature cupboard that the TV is mounted on.

It's full of racing magazines.

Flashlight in mouth, he shakes them out one after the other.

He scrutinizes all the papers that fell out, frustrated to see dozens of receipts from a frozen yoghurt parlour, a few gas receipts and a couple of utility bills.

As he starts for the bedroom, he trips on a torn piece of the industrial carpet.

With a cuss, he falls forward, shin knocking against the small table on the hallway.

The sharp tingling is right on the bone, so painful that he rocks on one foot, grunting at the tenderness.

He then misses his footing, arm flailing and accidentally knocking over the lamp on the table, the sound of it like gunfire in the night.

Taking in a quick breath, he shuts off the flashlight, hoping no one heard that.

After two minutes of complete silence, he chides himself to hurry up.

Righting the lamp, he notices a door handle leading into what looks like a closet. Pulling the door open, he turns the flashlight back on, the white light gleaning on a toilet seat.

So far, all he's learned about Dwight is that he saved receipts for purchases of frozen yoghurt, he liked circuit racing, and the unusual amount of hair products in his bathroom would rival Brooke's.

In the bedroom, clothes are piled high on a laundry hamper, spilling on the floor, some at the foot of the futon. There's no closet, just a garment rack with more empty hangers than clothes actually hanging off the rack.

The folding screen at the corner looks out of place in the messy room, like an antique wooden table in a room full of stainless steel furniture.

He flips the hamper over, holding his breath as he shakes out the garments.

After this road trip, he is just going to throw away the gloves. Or burn them.

He's patting the pockets of the last pair of jeans when bright lights flash across the bedroom.

Switching off the flashlight, he rushes to the window on the opposite side of the room, pulling aside a section of the curtain.

A Pleasant Hill police cruiser is coming to a stop outside Dwight's trailer.

"Shit."

A uniformed roly-poly officer steps out of the vehicle, his gaze focused straight at the bedroom window.

Nathan ducks to his knees, pulling off the gloves and stashing them in his pocket together with the flashlight.

"Shit, shit, shit!"

He looks around frantically for some place to hide. The place is so small and he doubts he could fit into any space.

In a panic, he crawls on all fours towards the folding screen; it's the only thing that looks big enough to fit his tall frame.

He's just folded himself up when the door to the trailer opens.

"Hello?" the officer calls out.

Pressing himself back into the metal wall of the trailer like he wants it to swallow him up, Nathan breathes out slowly, trying to not to call attention to himself.

The floor groans at the officer's weight, his boots thumping on the carpet.

"Anyone here?"

Like he's going to answer.

Something starts to squeak right beside his ear and he whips his head to it.

A joint between two metal sheets has come loose, and a piece of transparent plastic paper is poking out of it.

Could this be the clue he was looking for?

With much curiosity and caution, he raises his hand, pinching the edge of the paper between his thumb and forefinger.

Whatever it is isn't willing to give and he tugs harder at it.

It all happens so fast, the paper giving in and ripping, powder floating out all around his face.

Instinctively, he coughs, and realizing his mistake, he clamps his mouth shut, his eyes widening.

Powder then escapes into his eyes, causing such a burning sensation that he wants to scream.

It gets even worse when he hears a sound that is most likely coming from a cocked gun.

"Whoever you are, show yourself."

The voice sounds steady and dangerous; his heart starts thudding so much louder that it sounds like an accompaniment to his dilemma.

"I know you're in here."

The boots have moved into the bedroom, stopping just a few feet away from the folding screen.

"I'm not going to shoot," that demanding voice says again. "Just come out with your hands up."

Before Nathan can stop it, he sneezes.

Loudly.

The gun is cocked again.

"You are trespassing on police property. I'll give you to the count of three to give yourself up."

"Don't shoot!" he shouts, masking his voice by cupping his hands over his mouth.

He gets slowly to his feet, looking on both sides of the folding screen for a way out.

"I'm not going to shoot unless you come out. One, t–"

Not waiting for two, Nathan is leaping out of the folding screen, pushing the officer out of the way. His years in basketball have left him quick on his feet.

He doesn't look back to find out whether the officer is down or still upright.

"HEY! STOP!"

Like a bat out of hell, he bursts out of the trailer, running fast towards the forest.

Breathing sharp and hard, his mind racing with thoughts on survival, he ducks under trees, flies over rocks, slapping branches away from his face, some smacking him right on.

His eyes and nose are stinging, but he doesn't stop, never looking back at whether the officer is in pursuit.

He smacks his lips together, hoping that the pudgy officer is lost.

Jumping out of the forest, he sees the maroon Mustang parked right where he last saw it, at the edge of the main road.

He's blinking hard as he scrambles for the door handle.

Lucas sits up immediately, his eyes roaming over his brother's face.

"What the hell is that on your face?"

Nathan doesn't answer, slamming the door shut and turning to his brother.

"DRIVE!"

Lucas doesn't question the demand and with a turn of the ignition, the tires are squealing as he drives out of there.

"Oh my God! What the hell happened back there!?"

He looks into the rear view mirror, pressing down on the gas pedal.

"Cop. Gun."

Holding onto the dashboard, Nathan turns in the seat to look behind them. He can just make out the silhouette of the police officer.

"Did he see you!?"

"I don't think so."

"You don't think so? YOU DON'T THINK SO!?"

"Stop yelling! It was dark so I'm pretty sure he didn't see me. Will you slow down? I don't think he's after us."

Lucas gives a half-laugh half-snort, his eyes fleeting between the road and the rear view mirror.

"I'm not going to give him a chance to catch up with us! Jesus! I told you this was a bad idea!"

Leaning back in his seat, Nathan buckles up, tapping at his cheeks.

"What is that on your face? Icing sugar?" Luke asks, relaxing his foot on the gas.

Nathan rubs at his nose, a pain winding from the bridge of his nose to the nerves behind his eyes.

"I don't know."

"How did it get there?"

"It was in the wall."

Lucas glances over at him quickly before shifting gears. "It was in the wall?"

"There was a paper and…never mind. My head hurts like a bitch."

His head is throbbing, so hard that it's like bass drums to his ears.

"Oh my God. I think that's cocaine."

He whips his head to look at his brother, apprehension coming over him.

"What?"

Lucas chuckles, taking another look into the rear view mirror.

"Oh, man. I can't wait to tell Haley about this."

* * *

"_Nate. Nate. We're here."_

The voice sounds garbled, like whoever is talking is speaking underwater.

Nathan opens his eyes, blinking slowly to gain focus. Lucas' face is right above his, looking warped and wavy.

"Your face is weird, man."

"Are you sure you're okay?"

"Clay? Why would I want clay?"

Lucas cusses, reaching for Nathan's seatbelt. "Come on. Let's get you inside."

"Where are we?"

"At the rendezvous."

They stagger up the stairs, Nathan singing rendezvous repetitively and off-key.

"Where are your keys?" Luke asks, patting Nathan's pockets.

He looks drunkenly at Lucas, squinting repeatedly as if trying to clear his vision.

"Why is your nose growing, Pinocchio?" he slurs, poking Luke's nose.

Lucas swats his hand away, pulling out the house keys.

"I knew that someday you would start doing hard drugs."

Nathan starts to laugh, reaching for the door handle at the same time Lucas does.

"Stop that!"

"You stop that…Pinocchio."

They stumble into the apartment, Nathan laughing maniacally, so hard that he loses his balance and crashes back on the couch.

"Oooops!"

Panting, Lucas shuts the door and looks down at his brother.

"I'll get you a towel."

"I don't think we have any towels," Nathan calls out, sliding off the couch and landing on the floor with a thud.

Lucas is still shaking his head as he returns with a wet facecloth in hand.

He stops in his tracks when he gets to the kitchen, where Nathan is standing beside the counter and staring at his bare feet.

"What the hell is that?"

Nathan looks up slowly, blinking hard. "What?"

"What are you wearing, Nate?"

He's stripped down to his boxers and over them, he's wearing Haley's daisy-printed apron, leaving the square bandage on his ribcage visible.

He sways on his feet as he looks down at himself. "Oh. This? It's my wife's. Haley."

"I know her name, dummy," Lucas retorts, slapping the wet cloth over Nathan's face.

"Why are you wearing Haley's apron?"

Dropping the cloth from his face, Nathan grins at Lucas like a crazy idiot, grabbing the pair of pink rubber gloves on the counter.

"I want to clean the apartment," he says, snapping a glove on.

"Haley…Haley said that she's going to have a clean head in her roof."

"Right," Lucas says, ignoring whatever Nathan is trying to say.

"Hey! We should clean the roof!" Nathan yells, hands on Luke's shoulders and shaking him violently.

His eyes seem to roll back as he looks around the apartment, and Lucas can't help but laugh at his strange behaviour.

"You want to tell me that cocaine makes you want to clean?"

Nathan starts to dance to an imaginary song, the moves clumsy as his limbs fly in different directions.

"And dance!"

He dances gracelessly towards the television, but from the look on his face, he seems to think that he holds the crown for the world's best dancer.

Suddenly, hip hop music is blasting from speakers around the apartment, the floor thumping with every beat.

"Jesus!"

Lucas runs across the living room, unplugging the TV from its socket.

"What did you do that for!?" Nathan yells from over him. "I was listening to that!"

"Are you crazy!? It's two o'clock in the morning! You want to get evicted?"

Lucas pushes him away from the TV and towards the kitchen. "Go start cleaning."

Grabbing the laptop from the dining table, Lucas sinks back on the couch, watching Nathan as he struggles to uncoil the vacuum's cable.

"Loop it under," he pipes when he can't take any more of Nathan's severely uncoordinated hand movements.

Nathan swivels to throw him a cold glare. "I know!"

When the web page loads, Lucas says, "Well, according to the internet, you may have inhaled speed or cocaine, you're about to have a stroke, or you're on the verge of dementia."

"Move your feet," Nathan shouts over the droning of the vacuum.

"Did you hear me?" he yells back, discreetly taking a photograph of Nathan.

"You could be demented, bro!"

Nathan flips him the bird before he rubs furiously at the bridge of his nose.

As he's pushing the vacuum cleaner down the small hallway towards the bedroom, there's a knock on the door.

Hoping that Nathan doesn't make an appearance in that frilly apron, dilated pupils and a feather duster, Lucas opens the door.

"What is going on here?" Mr. Tomlin, the next door neighbour, grumbles.

He stares at Lucas up and down before barking, "Who the hell are you?"

With the thin strands of grey hair sticking out over his head, he looks like such a cartoon that Lucas almost laughs out loud.

"I'm Lucas, Mr. Tomlin. Nathan's brother. We've met a few times."

Mr. Tomlin narrows his eyes at him, lips curled up slightly in a sneer. "The stoner?"

Lucas just blinks at him, thinking that the man himself is a stoner.

"What? No! I'm not a stoner!"

If Nathan comes out, he'll see who between them the stoner is.

And how many brothers does Mr. Tomlin think Nathan has for him to brand Lucas as The Stoner?

"Your brouhaha woke up Toots."

"Toots?"

Mr. Tomlin narrows his eyes at him. "If we have met before, you would know that Toots is my cat."

He then cranes his head to peer into the apartment, suspicion on his face.

"Are you stealing from these kids? Are you pretending to be a relative to throw me off?"

He wags his finger at Luke's face, facial features scrunched up.

"I'm calling the police!"

Checkered robe flying behind him, Mr. Tomlin runs back to his apartment.

Slamming the door shut, Lucas faces the hallway and yells, "Nate! Mr. Tomlin is going to have me arrested! You better get over there and sort this out!"

He sees Nathan move past the door, pushing the vacuum while swinging his hips to probably the sound of the vacuum.

"Nathan!"

He pokes his head out the door, looking miffed. "What!?"

"Get over to Mr. Tomlin's and tell him your brother is visiting."

"Why?"

"Just go."

He turns off the vacuum, starting down the hallway.

"Put some clothes on."

Nathan throws him a piercing look, rubbing at his nose.

He squints as he reaches for the discarded clothes around the living room floor, almost toppling over onto his face.

"Don't eat my Cheerios," he warns Lucas, pulling the door open.

Lucas looks him over, the apron under his shirt and over his jeans like a strange little skirt.

"Like me eating your cereal is your biggest worry right now."

Shaking his head, he flops down on the couch, switching on the television.

He'll stay the night, just to make sure that Nathan doesn't jump off the balcony, thinking it's a diving board.

* * *

His body is vibrating. At least, that's what he thinks is happening.

There's shrill ringing accompanying the vibration, both those sounds yanking him out of his comatose state.

Cheek pressed to the generic beige carpet, arms spread out like he was flying, Nathan groans at the pain in his neck.

Loosening an eyelid that feels glued shut, his vision focuses on something pink that is attached to his hand.

Raising a finger, he feels the rubbery shell of the pink thing stretching.

It's just a glove, not anything repulsive.

The ringing and vibrating continue and when he concentrates on where it's coming from, he turns over to his back.

Grunting, he snaps the gloves off, throwing them far out of reach.

He pats his pockets with heavy hands for what he can now identify as a cell phone, plucking it out and holding it to his ear.

What the hell happened last night?

"Hello."

"_Nathan. Detective Collins here."_

He's instantaneously wide awake, staring at the dark smudge on the ceiling from a basketball that Tim left there a year ago.

"Morning, detective."

"_Morning. There's been a development in your wife's case."_

At the cautious catch in the detective's tone, Nathan sits up, his head swimming with the movement.

"What is it?"

"_We put out an ATL for anyone who had information about the case through radio and scanners and last night, a trucker came in with quite some interesting information."_

It's like the detective is drawing out the point of this conversation, and it's already torturing Nathan to no end.

"And?" he prompts, holding back a snarl.

"_He claims that there was someone else. A woman who was strangely dressed the same as your wife left the store after your wife did."_

He thought that the detective had good news but he didn't think that the good news would be so sweet.

Ignoring the strange weight that's claimed his body, Nathan stands, dropping down on the couch.

Forgetting that Lucas is laid out on the sofa, he lands on his feet, causing Lucas to jump from his sleep.

"What? There's a witness?"

Yanking his feet from under Nathan's thighs, Lucas sits up, rubbing his face.

"_There's a witness."_

"Is his claim solid?" Nathan asks, hopeful.

The detective sighs on the other end, and as if reluctant, he answers, _"Yes."_

He almost jumps with joy but he stays put, his foot beginning to bop, thumbnail stuck between his teeth.

"What…what does this mean for Haley?"

"_They'll let her go."_

"They– Yes! Holy crap!"

There's a wide grin on his face as he pumps a fist into the air.

Lucas is patting his arm rather insistently but he shrugs it away, gripping the phone tighter.

"Seriously? When?"

"_Today. I have to call your lawyer to work on that,"_ the detective finishes unhappily.

Excited yet still in shock, Nathan nods before he says, "Okay."

"_She better not skip town, kid,"_ the detective warns. _"She's still a person of interest."_

"Of course. Thank you, detective!"

Elated, Nathan jumps from the couch, letting out a loud yell.

A confused Lucas grips his arms to stop him from skipping away. "What was that about? Haley?"

Placing his hands over his brother's shoulders, Nathan says with a grin, "They're letting her go!"


	15. Chapter 15

Fiddling with the radio nervously, the leg outside the open driver's door bopping just as nervously, Nathan eyes the prison gate.

He's a wreck.

He's anxious to see Haley, yet wondering if someone will call the prison, demanding that she be sent back because there was an error.

Giving up on the music, he steps out, leaning on the closed door, hands stuffed into the pockets of his well-worn jeans.

He throws a glance at the gate, wishing he had the power to fly or be invisible to slip through without getting noticed.

How long does it take to get someone released from prison? It's been half an hour since Christopher disappeared into the prison.

Huffing out his anxiety and frustration, he shows his back to the gate, preferring to hear it open rather than torment himself waiting to see it open.

Since the detective's call this morning, the abject terror of being called again with the news that there was a mix-up has been the foremost worry.

He's also worried about Haley.

Between visiting day and today, anything could have happened. The first time he visited her, she had been physically attacked, for God's sake.

He wants to throw up from the nerves.

* * *

She's distracting herself with one of Selena's books when a guard raps at their cell door with his nightstick.

"Scott. Warden wants to see you."

Her heart plummets to her stomach at the mention of the warden.

For a girl who has always abided by the rules, prison has been the worst example to display it.

"Why?"

The guard doesn't answer, motioning her to step out.

She feels like she's being sent to the gallows with the guard walking behind her.

They receive a few glances from inmates but it's nothing out of the ordinary for one of them to be escorted by a guard.

Her eyes are downcast as they silently walk down the pavers towards the administration building.

Unable to take it, Haley pauses mid-stride, looking up at the tall guard.

He's the same one who revoked her phone privileges after Tess batted her lashes at him.

"Do you know what this is about?" she asks, her voice strained with anxiety and worry.

His sharp jaws clench and he jerks her forward by the shoulder.

"I'm not paid to ask for details. Move it."

If they were to ever meet outside these walls, he'll see how he likes being treated like a cow out to pasture. Cows are probably treated with better dignity.

The inside of the red brick building is like another universe away from the cell unit.

The air is fresh, and the AC is probably never faulty especially in the summer heat. It's white linoleum floors are sparkling clean, and she can see the reflection of the bottom of her canvas shoes as they stride down the corridor.

Framed photographs of previous wardens line the walls, plants in flower pots underneath those frames, like each pot has been put there for a warden.

Turning sharply towards a shorter hallway, the guard stares right ahead, marching like a man ready for battle.

He stops at a desk at the end of the hallway, the young man on the phone behind the desk dismissing him with a wave of the hand.

The guard growls beside her, throwing the man a dark glare before he leaves.

Haley stands there anxiously, waiting for him to finish the conversation.

He eyes her up and down, his eyes lingering a little too long on her feet before he hangs up with a rapid goodbye.

"Scott?"

She just nods, watching him walk to the thick door and knock on it.

He pokes his head in, muttering something before turning to her.

"You can go in."

Shutting the door behind her, she takes a quick look around the warden's office.

It smells like old books and incense, and every piece of furniture is in either brown or burgundy.

Bookshelves against the wall are stacked with thick leather-bound books, similar to what would be seen in a lawyer's office.

Warden Rosenthal, hair tied in a chignon at the top of her head, is seated on a wide leather chair. The desk is neatly organized, with pens and papers in their proper holders and piles.

There are two vast chairs for guests and with some hesitation, Haley makes her way towards the one closest to her.

She halts in her step when she sees that there's someone sitting in one of the chairs.

His presence has her heart crashing to her ankles.

"Mr. Culpepper?"

He gives her a broad smile, standing and giving her a quick once-over.

"Are you alright?"

She nods, and in confusion, turns to the woman behind the desk; the warden's black eyes are unblinking, watching her like a predator.

"Sit," the warden commands says, her gruff voice sounding so much louder and intimidating so close.

Haley still finds that chignon amusing, and with the way the light from the window hits her, it looks like she's carrying a small pot on her head.

"Is it Nathan?" she asks in a small voice, a coldness sweeping through her bones as she takes the empty seat.

Why else would she be summoned to the warden's office, in the presence of her lawyer, if not to tell her that the goons had seriously hurt Nathan?

Christopher holds up his hand in a bid to calm her down. "No. He's fine."

She nods, the relief that comes with his words loosening her up some.

"Then…then what's going on?"

Christopher turns to the warden, and a look is shared between them.

"You're being released," the warden states, pushing some stapled papers towards her.

Haley just stares at her, mouth puckered open in shock.

"What?"

She reaches for the papers, her fingers lingering over them as though afraid to touch them.

"I'm…I'm going home?"

Her voice is husky as her eyes read across the top page, disbelieving that the release forms have her name on it.

Haley Scott.

With her chin trembling, she lifts her head, looking back and forth between the warden and the solicitor.

"You're going home," Christopher grins.

A thrill shoots through her when she thinks of freedom, causing her to let out a short scatty laugh.

She's shaking everywhere as she wipes the tears from her cheeks.

"Why? I mean, what changed? Oh my God, where do I sign?"

* * *

"You must be anxious to get out of here," Christopher says as he flips through the bundle of papers.

Drumming her fingers on the table, Haley says, "You have no idea."

There's a wide, uncontrollable grin on her face and she feels like she could burst out of her skin at any moment.

"I can't believe that they're letting me go!" she blurts, looking up at the lawyer.

With a smile, Christopher scrawls his signature on the bottom of the page before turning it over.

"Well, the eyewitness was adamant that someone else who looked like you jumped into a car after you left."

"What car?" she asks curiously.

"A pickup."

Thinking about that night like she's done a million times since she was arrested, she tries to remember seeing a pickup at the car park of the store.

The only pickup she can recall was getting off the highway and driving into the gas station beside the store.

"Oh my God," she whispers, feeling sick.

Someone was watching, someone was waiting to pick out a sap who would take the fall for an execution.

Christopher pauses, pen over the page, his hand touching her arm lightly.

"Are you okay?"

Haley, dazed and ashen, turns bit by bit to look at him.

"That night…there was…"

He frowns before his face smoothens out in comprehension.

"You saw a pickup?"

She nods slowly, closing her slightly gaping mouth.

Christopher cusses, reaching into his pocket for his phone.

"I'm calling the detective. Whoever is framing you could come after you, especially since you've been released."

The officer behind the grill drops a sealed bag in front of them, holding out a clipboard to Haley.

"Confirm that everything is there. You can change in the bathroom down the hall."

Stunned and confused, Haley runs her eyes up and down the paper clipped on the clipboard.

Somebody really wanted her framed for murder. Why?

With Christopher still on the phone, she signs her name hurriedly, grabbing the bag and heading towards the bathroom.

"I heard you were leaving."

With a yelp, Haley jumps back, her hand over her heart.

"Jesus!"

Jean drops down from the bathroom counter, stuffing her hands in her pockets.

"Sorry."

Looking over her shoulder, Haley doesn't see anyone running towards the bathroom at her scream.

"How did you get in here?" she asks, shutting the door.

Jean smirks, and with a slight shake of her head, Haley says, "You know what? Never mind."

For a tense, awkward moment, they don't say a word.

"I wanted to apologize for what happened at the library," Jeans says, a leg propped against the wall behind her.

Haley doesn't answer, running a finger over the plastic bag.

"You've been avoiding me."

Jean sounds so hurt when she speaks that Haley finally meets her eyes; a wounded look has embedded into Jean's features.

She has been avoiding her since that day, worried and scared that if given the chance, Jean would do something worse than what happened at the library.

"Can you blame me?" she finds herself saying.

Jean makes a move to step forward but she rethinks it at Haley's flinch.

"I'm sorry."

Haley just watches her, patiently, unsure of what to do.

She closes her eyes, drawing in a long, deep breath.

"You can't do that to people. Did I give you mixed signals or something?"

This confrontation is three days overdue.

Jean shakes her head, not looking her in the eye, leaning her back against the tiled wall of the bathroom.

"I'm sorry," Jean repeats, much softly.

"It doesn't change what you did, Jean. I can't forget it, and I feel like an idiot thinking that we were friends."

She's been angry, she's been scared and she's been ashamed.

With a heavy sigh, Haley pushes the thoughts of the past month out of her mind, ripping the plastic bag open and shaking out her things.

"I just…I just want to go home."

Her wedding ring lands on the counter with a soft clank and with a smile, she grabs it, sliding it onto her finger.

A soft sigh of happiness passes her lips as she admires the simple band.

"Thank you," she says softly, her burning eyes closing. "That night you…"

Jean may have scared the wits out of her for the last few days but the tough woman saved her baby's life.

The least she can do is tell her so before she gets out of here.

She slips into a stall, dressing hurriedly. Considering that she didn't have a bunch of things with her when she arrived at the prison, she doesn't need extra time to look pretty.

There's time for all that at home.

She stuffs the prison garb into the bag, uncaring about folding them neatly. She's just eager to leave.

Draping Nathan's dark blue Ravens sweatshirt over her arm, she steps out of the stall, finding Jean still standing in the same spot.

Without a word, she moves towards the door, dragging it open and throwing Jean a last look.

"Write me," Jean says, pulling out a pack of cigarettes, a sad smile on her face.

Haley returns the smile before closing the door, drawing out a shaky breath and squaring her shoulders before walking back to the release desk.

Christopher is done with the paperwork, his thumb flying across the keypad of his phone.

"Your record will be cleared," he says when he sees her, pressing a few more keys before pocketing the phone.

"Everything okay?" he asks.

Haley smiles at him, sliding the plastic bag across the desk to the guard.

"Yeah."

She follows him out of the building, the sun gloriously warm and delicious on her skin the moment it hits her.

It's the same sun, but it feels different when she's out of the prison khakis.

"I think I'm a very lousy criminal lawyer," Christopher says as they take the narrow tree-lined path towards the main gate.

It's used by visitors, prison personnel and released inmates, never the convicted.

"You did your best under the circumstances. This wasn't exactly a case about petty thieving," she grins, looking back over her shoulder to take one last glimpse of the prison.

Christopher lets out a strangled laugh under his breath before tugging at the neck of his tie.

"Even so, I'm just going to focus on fraud and small crimes. At least with that I'm sure I won't completely let my clients down."

"I've been meaning to hire a lawyer for that pending tax evasion charge. Can you help me?"

He laughs again, this time more genuinely.

She does a double take when she sees the old faded-white bus passing through the main gate.

A month ago, she was in that bus, her world shattered as she looked through the window at the harsh buildings.

"I don't ever want to return here," she says slowly, a hard edge to her voice.

The new inmates she has a glimpse of, even with the bravado and indifference on their faces, have an underlying apprehension and fear reflected in their eyes.

As much as she hoped that she would get used to being locked up, she never was acquainted with that feeling.

She felt like a piece of a puzzle put in the wrong place and left there as if the whole thing made perfect sense with her where she was.

"Unlikely," Christopher tells her with a reassuring smile.

In comfortable silence, they approach the foot traffic gate.

Christopher hands the guard the papers in his hand. Haley just stands there breathlessly, the anxiety so overwhelming that her heart is knocking against her chest.

Time drags slowly as the guard's gaze moves between her and the paper, Haley terrified that she'll be dragged away in a moment because they made a blunder.

"S'fine," he finally mumbles, stamping both papers and handing one to Christopher.

He reaches under the table, the buzzer going off and the gate starting to part.

She lets out a long breath, her fingers curled around the sides of her dress.

For as long as she lives, she will always feel glum and her heart will always jump a beat whenever a buzzer goes off, however harmless it is.

Freeing her hands from the fists, she rubs her sweaty palms down her dress, an uncontrollable grin back on her face.

Nathan is just on the other side.

* * *

Pushing away from the car, he starts pacing, unable to keep still.

He kicks at a piece of stone in his path, watching it roll down the tarmac.

He's so high strung with anticipation that he wants to start pulling out his hair.

At the sound of the buzzer, he stops mid-pace, swinging his head to face the opening black gate.

It's either all in his head or it's been rigged that way but for whatever reason, the gate is opening so excruciatingly slowly that he wishes he could psychically speed it up.

Breath whooshes out of him when he ceases to see anything but her.

She's in that dress she wore at the hearing, the white shirtwaist that makes her look absolutely angelic.

Her dark blonde hair is flowing past her shoulders, flying as she runs towards him.

He can't stop the ridiculous grin on his face as he meets her, everything about today just etching itself into memory.

"Hi!" she laughs.

He breaks out into a loud laugh, scooping her up easily into his arms, her legs going around his waist.

Once, he twirls her around as she laughs and buries her face in his neck.

"Are you okay?" he asks huskily, hugging her tightly.

Nose buried in the collar of his red polo shirt, she nods, just loving the feel of him.

"I'm okay."

Drawing her head back, Haley lowers herself to the ground, her arms wound around his neck.

Nathan brushes away the silky strands of hair in her face, just as their lips seal together.

They kiss exuberantly, clinging onto each other like they're afraid to let go.

"I missed you," she breathes against his mouth, nibbling on his lip, her fingers tunneled into his hair.

Over and over they kiss, until they hear Christopher clearing his throat behind them, making them aware of his presence.

Their mouths tear away from each other with speed as they turn towards him, having forgotten about where they were.

He looks amused.

They both laugh self-consciously, twining their fingers together when they face him.

"Sorry," Nathan apologizes. Haley's face is burning hot.

Christopher just grins, holding out the sweatshirt to Nathan.

"Completely understandable," he says, covering a snicker.

Leaning on his car, he looks at them with a probing expression.

"The Pleasant Hill police said that they'll be in touch if anything comes up. Should you notice anything odd, you can notify the detective."

He fixes his gaze on Nathan.

"Since they inserted the tracker in your phone, have you received any other calls?"

"No."

Confused, Haley looks back and forth between them. Before she can ask, Nathan squeezes her hand and whispers, "I'll explain later."

He then addresses the lawyer. "What happens now? Haley's clear?"

Christopher nods, propping an arm on the roof of the car.

"We can sue them for rushing to judgment, which we are completely justified to do. They should have looked into this rather than jumped the gun and made you look like a killer."

Haley is shaking her head, simply exhausted about everything to do with the accusation. Adding a lawsuit on top of it will be pointless when she could spend her time doing other things.

"I don't want to do that. I really don't."

Nathan rubs her arm, dropping a kiss on her forehead.

She looks up at him, resting her cheek on his shirt.

"I just want to get out of here."

They watch Christopher drive off before getting into their car.

As they drive away from the prison, Haley doesn't take the slightest glance at the ominous building, her face raised up to the sun streaming through her open window.

She's free.

* * *

"A pickup?"

"A pickup."

Something tugs at his memory but he doesn't know what. It's out of reach, but he thinks it's important.

"This is just crazy. What kind of person does something like this?"

"Beats me, honey. Hey, what was Christopher talking about? Why are they tracking your phone?"

Her hand on his knee is as pasty as her face when he tells her about the phone call.

"Oh my God. She called you? Did she sound like someone we know?"

"No." His face hardens, lips forming a grim line.

"She was so smug, like she was in a childhood game instead of playing with people's lives."

"I've been thinking a lot about this. There has to be a reason she picked me, right? What if she's someone I fought with who is back for vengeance?"

"Fought with? Using what, swords? And then she opted for a gun to even the score?"

"Maybe we had a heated argument over something. Or someone. Like you."

He almost brakes hard in the middle of the highway. "Me? Hales, the only one of my ex-girlfriends you've talked to is Peyton. I doubt she'd be so pissed that she'd pin a murder on you after two years."

"Then whoever this woman is, she's paying me back for something."

"Whoever she is, she has to be crazy to go to such an extent. Can we not talk about her right now? It's a good day."

She leans over, brushing her lips on his cheek.

"Sure. It is a good day. Where are we going?"

"I scheduled an appointment for you at the hospital."

She grins, her hand moving to curl over his on the gearshift.

"You did?"

"God, yes. We need to make sure that everything's okay with the baby."

He glances quickly at her stomach before focusing on her eyes.

"Are you feeling okay? Morning sickness? Do I need to stop?"

She shakes her head, a slow, shaky smile spreading across her face at the tenderness in his expression.

"I'm okay. I'm craving for something greasy, though."

Gasping, she squeezes his hand. "Remember that dive bar we went to when we were driving down from Raleigh? The one that had those huge burgers?"

Her eyes close at the thought of them, the tip of her tongue darting out to run across her upper lip.

"That was some barbecue."

Opening her eyes, her lips curl up into such a childlike pout that it makes him laugh.

"Can we go there? Please? I had cold oatmeal for breakfast."

He's still laughing as he brings the back of her hand to his lips.

"The party can wait," she sighs, leaning on the headrest.

"How did you…"

She chuckles, holding her arm out the window and making a wavy motion.

"Babe, we're friends with Brooke Davis. And I've just been released from prison. Tell me that there's not a party somewhere between that connection."

Turning her head slightly, she says, "By the way, 'the only one of my ex-girlfriends'? Care to give me a number of where Peyton is on that list?"

* * *

After a huge meal of burgers and milkshakes, and a trip to the doctor's, Nathan pulls in at Tric's parking lot a little after 8PM.

The lot is crammed with cars, and lights are on in and around the building.

Tric, the all-ages club owned by Karen and Deb, is housed in a two-story brick structure in the warehouse district of Tree Hill.

It was Peyton's brainchild, a popular hangout for teens looking to chill and listen to good music.

Nathan and Haley walk hand-in-hand towards the staircase, Haley feeling apprehensive about going in.

"Wait."

She halts at the start of the stairs, pulling at his hand.

From the step above her, Nathan looks down at her with worry.

"What's wrong?"

Her eyes darting to the sign above the closed door, Haley lets out a deep breath, feeling her heart dip to the pit of her stomach.

Loud music is floating through, and she can hear noisy laughter and chitchat above the music beats.

Understanding her apprehension, Nathan sinks down on the stair, pulling her gently to sit beside him.

"We don't have to go in," he murmurs, wrapping an arm around her shoulders.

Leaning her elbows on her knees, Haley grabs at her hair as if she wants to pull it out.

"I want to. I'm just a little on edge, I guess."

She tilts her head, her mouth curling up on the side. "Long day."

Resting her head on his shoulder, they sit together quietly for a moment.

"Are you nervous about being in a large crowd or are you nervous about seeing your friends?" he asks, stroking her arm.

She groans, letting out another long breath. "The second one?"

With the tension that is radiating off her in waves, he places his hand on the small of her back, massaging at the tightness gently.

"Is it weird that I'm reacting like this when I've known these people for years?"

"Hales, you've been in prison for a month. You haven't been able to see those people you've known for years for that long, when you saw each other what, every day? It's reasonable that you'd be nervous to see them."

She nods, drawing in a lungful of air before standing and holding her hand out to him.

"Let's go party."

He laughs, hugging her against his side as they walked towards the door.

"See you on the other side," Nathan says before he grabs the handle, dropping a kiss on her temple.

When they walk into the club, conversation stops for a moment before everyone whoops.

Streamers and confetti float down from the ceiling as they walk further into the vast room, laughing.

A large banner hanging from the ceiling welcomes Haley home in big letters, colourful balloons decorating the walls and ceiling.

They make their way through the crowd, friends giving Haley fierce hugs and words of congratulations.

She's giddy with delight and excitement when they get to the bar.

"Great job, babe," Nathan whispers in her ear.

She laughs merrily, giving his hand a squeeze.

Like out of nowhere, her parents pop out from the end of the bar, party hats on their heads, blowers between their lips.

She hugs them closely, tears seeping through her eyes.

Her mother starts to cry, too, hanging on tightly to her youngest child.

When she's calmer, the first thing she says is, "Call Alex."

After that, they disappear into the horde, calling out for the formation of a conga line.

"Your parents are crazy," Nathan mutters, signaling the bartender. "Cool, but crazy."

"I warned you about what you were marrying into," she teases, her arm banded around his waist.

"Where's your mom?"

He looks out over the dance floor, packed to the hilt with people, people who care about Haley.

"No clue. She was supposed to be here."

"HALEY!"

The brunette emerges through a trio of dancers, drawing Haley into a hug.

"You look amazing, Brooke! And the party…I don't know what to say."

"No biggie. Sorry we started without you!" Brooke says, leading Haley towards a table pushed against the wall of the club.

"Have you eaten anything? Oh my God, it's so crazy that you were in prison! What do you want to drink?"

Not knowing what question to answer first, Haley says amusedly, "Soda is fine."

Brooke raises her brow. "Sure about that? There's champagne. What do you think?"

"About champagne?"

"No!" Brooke giggles. "This, silly! Peyton! Get over here! And bring me a soda!"

Mounted on the table is a big card that is open, signatures scrawled across the expanse of its white middle.

"You like? We weren't allowed to bring it to you when we visited."

Leaning over, Haley scans the words on the paper.

She laughs at some of the hilarious comments people have made about the police and prison.

Turning to Brooke, she gives her a warm hug. "I do. Thank you."

"Great! Wanna dance?"

* * *

The shock of being out of prison is beginning to fade. It's like she was functioning on adrenaline all day.

Her smile slips slightly as she looks at her friends, that thumping back in her heart and the pit of her stomach.

Feeling claustrophobic as people around her dance, laugh and talk, she excuses herself, rushing towards the back office and closing the door behind her.

She's crying as she shuts the connecting bathroom's door, plunking down on the toilet lid for a good cry.

It takes less than a minute for the nausea to hit her. This one is different, more akin to nausea associated with her nerves rather than that of her pregnancy.

Dropping to her knees, she lifts the lid and pukes out the cup of Mountain Dew she had.

Her stomach emptied out, she flushes the toilet, and on shaky feet stumbles to the sink.

Looking into the mirror, she notes the distraught and pallid appearance of her face. Again, she feels like she may just start hyperventilating or have a panic attack.

She turns on the tap, splashing cool water on her sweaty face, slowly counting backwards from twenty, feeling herself beginning to relax by the time she's on eight.

A soft knock on the bathroom door startles her so much that she jumps. She'd momentarily forgotten that there were people gathered in her honour.

"Hales? You okay?"

She pats her face dry, taking a long, deep breath before opening the door.

"I'm fine. How are you?" she says, trying to lighten the mood.

Peyton hands her a red plastic cup. "Not toilet wine."

Haley laughs into the cup, taking a sip of the apple cider and dropping down on the floor below the couch.

"Toilet wine sounds good right about now."

Peyton makes a disgusted face, sinking down beside her.

It just makes Haley laugh again.

They drink quietly for a moment, music thumping beyond the closed door.

"Is it the party? Was it too much?" Peyton asks quietly.

"No, not at all," Haley answers emphatically. "I'm just…"

"I'm just being crazy," she says, her voice low and deep.

"I should be celebrating that I'm out but I can't help thinking that they made a mistake."

Crushing the empty paper cup, Haley runs a hand through her hair.

"I don't think I can take it if I went back there, Peyton."

Peyton drops her cup, pulling Haley into a hug, her leather jacket crinkling. "You won't. That witness's account is pretty solid, right?"

"It is, but what if he wakes up tomorrow and realizes that he hallucinated the whole thing?"

She shudders when she thinks about being locked up again, Tess harassing her for befriending Jean, Jean wanting more than she can offer…

"And Nathan…God, he's been so amazing."

Shame and regret fills her eyes when she remembers telling him not to visit, telling him goodbye and asking Christopher to serve him divorce papers.

"I love my husband with all my heart and if I were to go back there for a long time…I – I don't know what it would do to us."

"It's not going to happen," Peyton reassures her.

She turns her eyes from the floor to Peyton's face.

"I…I'm pregnant, Peyton."

Peyton's eyes widen in surprise and she's unable to say anything for a few seconds.

"Wow. Okay."

And then she frowns in confusion. "Wait, did you know you were pregnant when you were in prison?"

Haley nods, drawing her knees to her chest.

"I'm sorry I didn't tell you," she says apologetically.

Peyton shakes her head to dismiss it. "It's okay. Want a congratulatory hug?"

Haley laughs, resting her head on Peyton's shoulder.

"Was it hard? Being there and pregnant?" Peyton asks softly.

She takes a moment to mull over it before saying, "I wasn't showing so it wasn't complicated for me. The hardest part was adjusting to everything, though, hoping that every day things would get easier. It didn't."

"I'm sorry, buddy."

"It's something I can tell my child about, right?" she grins slightly. "I have experience to back up my claim of them ending up in prison if they mess up."

Peyton laughs, bumping her shoulder playfully. "And I can use you with mine."

"See? Something good came out of this."

With a grin, she gets to her feet, moving towards the mirror by the door.

She holds the loose dress tightly against her stomach, a four-month swell visible.

Something good is coming out of this.

The lack of mirrors in prison made it impossible for her to really tell how far along she was, not forgetting the baggy prison clothes.

During the ultrasound, she was so surprised at how much her belly had grown that she was just rubbing it over and over.

"So…what are you longing for most tonight?" Peyton asks, rising to her feet and plopping down on the sofa.

Gazing at her friend through the mirror, Haley sees the mischievous look on Peyton's face.

She rolls her eyes, going red at the cheeks. "Really, Peyt?"

"What? You and Nate are like Energizer bunnies. I bet you need to recharge."

"Peyton!"

"My God, you're pregnant."

With a chuckle, Haley looks down at her stomach, rubbing it gently. "I know."

"Who else knows?"

"We haven't told anyone else yet," she says, as though embarrassed about keeping it a secret.

"Well, I do declare! I'm flattered," Peyton gushes with a Southern belle accent, batting her lashes and fanning her face with her hand playfully.

Haley just laughs, turning towards the door. "How long do you think the party will be? I've really missed my husband."

Slinging her arm around Haley's shoulders, Peyton grins and says, "Lucas still can't forget walking in on you, you know."

"I should just take his key back. His emergencies are not real emergencies when he barges in because his cable is acting up and there's a game on."

The party is still going strong and from where they are in the hallway, they can hear a chant urging someone to strip.

"I'm in the mood for a root beer float. Want one?"

"Is that going to get you into the mood for fu–"

"Peyton!"

"Fudge, Haley. I was going to say fudge."

* * *

"Has she called you again?"

Nathan shakes his head, taking a last drink from his glass. He thought champagne would taste incredible but he's really not a fan of the stuff.

"She's playing mind games with us."

Luke looks out at the corner where Peyton, Brooke and Haley are chatting.

"Does Haley know?"

Nathan follows his line of vision, a thoughtful expression on his face as he watches his wife.

"Yeah. She got really spooked out."

His mother steps out of the crowd, hugging Haley before pulling away and looking her over, mumbling something.

"Whoever this woman is, she's obviously crazy. She got my number and called me just to let me know that she was out there."

Brooke's shriek is heard above the music, her arms around Haley.

Over Brooke's shoulder, Haley catches his eye, grinning sheepishly and giving him a nod.

"Haley's pregnant."

Luke, water bottle to his lips, chokes, coughing out a spurt. "What?"

Grinning at his brother, Nathan places the glass on the bar. "I'm taking my wife home, Uncle Lucas."

With a combined look of surprise and disgust on his face, Luke turns to Haley.

"Dude, it's only been a month. And she doesn't look pregnant."

"Give her another month or two, but don't tell her I said that. And it's been a very very long month."

Luke groans, gulping down a drink just as Nathan is moving away. "Spare me the details."


	16. Chapter 16

**Warning: This chapter is **a lot** MA (18+) due to its sexual content!**

The bedroom is softly lit, with the two red scarves placed over the bedside lamps providing a warm, cozy feel.

Lying side-by-side facing each other, propped up on elbows, fingers linked together, they've been talking like people who have been out of touch for a decade.

"She would have probably kicked my ass."

Shaking his head, Nathan sniggers. "What? No way. You had two older brothers, and you grew up with the River Court guys. You learned a couple of things from them."

"I did, but in there, it couldn't be a good thing when your enemy had a posse."

Pulling at his hand, she leans back into the pillow and says, "Besides, I was scared crapless."

His head is thrown back as he laughs along with her, his Adam's apple bobbing.

"With Jean on your side? Please."

Her laughter becomes strained as she rests her hand on his shoulder.

Their relationship has always been open, an openness that Peyton finds weird for them not to keep secrets from each other.

"Um…"

She doesn't even know where to begin, what to term that moment in the library.

At her thoughtful expression, Nathan's brow scrunches up.

"What?"

Recalling that fear she felt makes her pause as she lets it pass. She doesn't know what made Jean stop but whatever it was came in the nick of time.

Softly, she retells that incident in the library, explaining that in no way does it affect what she feels for him.

He's cussing when she's done.

"What the…Are you okay? Did you report it? What the hell was she thinking?"

Haley leans her cheek on his shoulder, rubbing his tense arm up and down.

"I'm okay, and I didn't report it because I couldn't risk the consequences."

He lets out a slow breath, digging a hand through his hair. "Jesus, Hales. That is just fucked up. Are you sure you're okay?"

She mumbles yes, burying her head in his chest before she starts crying at how torn up he is about it.

"Thank God you got released. Thank God. I can't even imagine…"

"I'm fine now, Nathan."

In a bid to distract them both, she raises her head, her mouth quirked as she asks, "So, is there something you'd like to tell me?"

He looks at her questioningly, probably still thinking about what she'd told him earlier.

"What do you mean?"

Haley raises an eyebrow before rubbing a forefinger across her nose.

Nathan's eyes widen. "He told you?"

She laughs aloud at his expression, her fingers brushing back his hair.

"And he showed me the picture."

Horror clouds his face. "He what? What picture?"

Haley draws her arms around Nathan's waist, pulling him over her, burying her face into his bare chest.

"I think you looked adorable."

Holding himself up on his elbows, he gazes at her fondly, a smile on his lips as he plants a kiss to the side of her mouth.

"Adorable? I'm not a kitten."

A small chuckle escapes her and she can't resist digging her fingers through his hair, bringing his face closer to hers for a kiss.

That love she has for him is overwhelming. She turns serious, resting a hand on the side of his face.

"You okay?" he asks.

"Thank you," she says, her eyes shining with tears.

Worriedly, Nathan wipes at the corners of her eyes. "For what?"

"The party."

"Peyton and Brooke."

"Not giving up on me."

"Well, that was all me."

With a giggle, she pecks his lips. "And knocking sense into me."

He smiles, his hand stroking her damp hair.

Lime and apple.

"Always and forever," he says quietly.

She knows that she hurt him with those papers and it makes her feel like a complete failure as a wife.

"I – I'm sorry…" Her lips are trembling and the tears start to flow.

He nods understandingly, not blaming her for taking that option. If the roles had been reversed, he'd have done the same thing.

Haley shakes her head vehemently. "No...no, it's not okay. I shouldn't have done that to you."

She brings his hand to her lips, pressing a kiss to the middle of his palm. "T-to us."

His eyes follow the tear that drips down her cheek.

"Baby, I l-love you so much! I adore you and I didn't want you to be h-hurt any more because of me."

They could have killed him.

"I know. We're not through, Hales, okay? I'm still here and I'm not going anywhere."

Kissing her cheek and her forehead, he tells her that he loves her, that he adores her, too, and she lets out a small laugh.

"Before I forget, I have something for you. Don't move."

He brushes a quick kiss across her lips before rolling off the bed.

"W-what?" she asks, blinking against the wetness in her eyes.

"One second."

Haley sits up on her elbows with a shaky smile on her lips, staring at his retreating form.

"What is it?"

"You'll see."

In a minute, he's striding back down the hallway, hands behind his back, a cheeky look on his face.

"What do you have there?"

"Celebrating good times," he says, revealing a bottle of Rosé.

A huge smile spreads across her lips. "Oh my God."

"For you," he grins, holding it out to her.

"You have been reading my music notebook," she giggles.

"Maybe. Welcome home, baby."

She squashes her lips against his. "I'm so glad to be home. Thank you."

"I know you're pregnant," he says, kissing her belly loudly, "but we can keep it in the fridge for the next year until you're not pregnant."

"I'll be pregnant for a year?" she laughs, placing the chilled bottle on the nightstand.

"I'm rounding it off."

With a chuckle, Haley stares at the sonogram picture propped up beside her books.

"Honey, I don't think I'm going to get our son drunk while I breastfeed."

She seems to freeze up, whipping her head to look at him, a bewildered expression on her face.

"Oh my God, Nathan."

Nathan sits up, his eyes running down her body.

"What? Are you okay?"

"We're having a baby. A _baby_."

"I hope so," he grins, planting a kiss on her stomach before he looks up at her.

"What's wrong?"

She just bursts out into tears, holding a hand over her eyes. She's sobbing so deeply that her body is shaking.

Not knowing how to interpret her emotions, Nathan takes her gently in his arms.

"It's okay."

He feels her move her head against his bare chest.

"A b-b-baby!" she cries. "What…what are we supposed to do with him! What if I screw him up!"

Raising her chin, he says, "Hales, you can't start thinking like that. I'm banking on you _not_ screwing him up."

She laughs, wiping at her cheeks with the backs of her hands.

Nathan plucks a wad of tissue from the box on the bedside, dabbing at her tear-stained face.

"We won't screw him up. We're doing this together. If one of us is bordering on going the Dan Scott way of parenting, in other words me, the other, you, will keep me straight in line."

"You are not your father, Nathan," she says with conviction and sincerity.

He sighs, resting his cheek on the top of her head. Since that visit from Dan at the hospital, he's been having reservations about his ability to raise a child.

"I hope so. God, I hope so. I really want to do this right, Hales."

"_We_ are going to do this right, honey."

She shimmies up the bed, planting a soft kiss on his shoulder.

Angling her head, she gently pecks at his lips, rubbing herself against him.

"Haley?"

"Hm?"

He takes her hand, kissing her knuckles, scanning her eyes. "Are–"

She kisses him again, muffling his protest, taking small nips at his mouth.

"You know the best thing about me being pregnant?"

"What?"

"We don't need to be…cautious."

With a soft groan at the back of his throat, he nibbles on her lower lip.

"Nathan," she pleads in that soft voice that unravels him, her arms slipping around his neck.

Feeling his warm breath on her lips, she looks at him with urgency in her eyes.

He doesn't pause, bending to kiss her full on the lips, Haley pushing the pillows off the bed with her hands.

Her body responds immediately to his touch as he pulls the vest higher over her stomach, his lips pressing gentle kisses on her chest and ribcage.

Impatient, Haley yanks the vest over her head, leaving on her matching bra and underwear.

"Anxious, are we?" Nathan teases, hands spread on both sides of her waist.

Instead of answering, she guides his lips to hers for a smouldering kiss.

Lips still locked together, moving in rhythm to some magical dance, she takes his hand, dipping it over the elastic band of her underwear.

Cupping her, Nathan groans in her mouth, deepening the kiss. She matches his eagerness, her fingers woven in his dark hair, holding his head against her mouth.

Parting her with two fingers, he lightly tickles her folds, her thighs closing around his hand.

When he dips his finger into her, she gasps, loosening her lips from his, her head falling back in ecstasy.

He starts to kiss his way down her slightly swollen stomach, all the way to the waistline of her underwear.

And then he stops.

"Wh-what? Why'd you stop?" she asks breathlessly, her body buzzing from his touches.

Sliding his hand out reluctantly from where he's been teasing her, his fingers trail the faded bruise just below her hip, eyes on hers in question and worry.

"It doesn't hurt," she explains, her gaze hooded.

"J-just forget about it and do what you were doing before."

He places a gentle kiss on the mark, that small contact so consuming that it sends a flash of pleasure through her.

"Are you sure it's okay for us to…" He glances down at her belly.

"Yes…"

"I–"

"Oh my God…I swear if you don't get moving–" she warns, her voice husky and impatient.

"–you'll never forgive me?" he finishes, before blowing on her navel, his eyes trained on hers.

Haley shudders with a short intake of breath, her hands clutching the bed sheet.

"N-never…Oh, God…baby, you gotta s-stop…"

"You want me to stop?" he asks softly, his breath teasing the centre over her underwear. He loves to see her reaction whenever he touches her.

"NO! Don't you even–"

Bracing her hands on his shoulders, she arches her back, biting on her lip.

Caressing her tummy, Nathan focuses on her barely-there panties, playing with the waistline of the material.

"Maybe we should stop. Or take it slow," he teases, his darkened eyes drinking in the deep desire in her eyes.

Her breathing ragged, Haley sits up slowly on her elbows, her body trembling as she looks at him through passion-hazed eyes.

"N-now? You want to s-stop now?"

Her body is on fire as he trails his fingers along her body.

"Mmmhmm…"

"You're killing me h-here, Nathan…"

He laughs, a vibrant and hoarse laugh that drives a wave of lust over her.

And then his thumb rubs at the sensitive nub over the scrap of lace.

She nearly screams.

Hooking his fingers into the light blue panties, he glides them over her hips, lower and lower along her smooth legs until he peels them over her feet.

"God, baby, you are so wet," he whispers, his breath hot and arousing against her skin.

He places a feathery soft kiss in her centre, her dampness on his lips.

Trying to catch her breath, Haley lets out a whimper, her hands balled into fists as she stammers, "You–"

Feeling his lips on her, the sensation is so unexpected that she visibly trembles, her eyes fluttering closed.

Her breathing becomes frantic, her heels digging into the bed as he greedily licks her, darting his tongue in and out as he draws her close to tears.

Tracing his thumb once across her wet heat, Nathan starts to drag his hands over her knees, thighs and ribs.

They wander all over her heated and flushed body leisurely, until his face is looming over her bra.

Unclasping it, he swings it over his shoulder, sending it flying across the room.

He covers her body with his, kissing the tip of her nose, her cheekbone, his thumb moving across her lips.

She parts her lips to nip at his thumb, her eyes begging him to kiss her.

With a smirk, he leans down, their tongues hot and urgent as they twirl around each other's.

Tasting herself on his lips, she brings her hands to his face, cupping his cheeks to pull him closer.

"I love you," she moans against his mouth, their minty breaths mingling.

Deliberately and slowly, his hands slide along her curves, roaming to her breasts and kneading them gently.

"Am I hurting you?" he asks, kissing the tender skin behind her ear.

Her skin burns at his erotic ministrations, small thrills charging through her with anticipation.

"No."

Turning his attention to the swollen breasts, his lips close over one pert nipple, sucking, licking and flicking greedily.

With a stunned scream, Haley's back arches even more, uncaring about who can hear her.

Her husband's tongue has always been magic, each swirl like liquid fire with every slow circle.

Ripping his lips from the arch with a pop, his thumb replaces his mouth as he takes his time over the taut peaks.

"I could do this for hours."

She squirms beneath him, cussing as wicked shivers flow endlessly to the core of her.

She'd let him do that for hours but she's just too hungry for more of him.

Her hands slide down his warm, toned stomach until they're on the waistband of his pajama pants.

Lowering them over his hips, she frees his erection, tossing the pants on the floor.

He groans when her hand goes around him, his teeth gritted as she strokes the thick, hard, strained length.

Seeking out her heat, he slips his finger easily into her, sliding it in and out before sliding another finger in.

Skin to skin, her naked breasts against his bare chest, their breathing quickens and sharpens, and unable to take the torment, Haley rolls him to his back, straddling him, her legs spread out over each side of him.

He groans, getting harder in her hand, his upper body rising.

Her hands on his chest, she pushes him back, admiring his exquisite body. The fast pounding of his heart beats beneath her fingers.

Her eyes find the bandage on his ribcage, fingertips lightly tracing it.

Lowering her head, hair tumbling over his chest, her mouth brushes over the dressing before closing over a rigid bud on his chest.

With a guttural growl, he teeters on the edge of losing control as she curls her tongue around the small peak.

She starts moving against his thighs, grinding her lower body into his, her teeth scraping over his nipples.

"Hales…"

He can barely breathe when her fingernails slide along him, tickling his tight balls so excruciatingly slowly that he thinks he might blow up right then.

She moans, pressing herself harder against him, her mouth still working on both his nipples.

Choking back a low curse, he sits up, his hands slithering up to the back of her neck to pull her closer.

She closes her lips over his in a ravenous kiss, her tongue sweeping inside his mouth to draw his tongue into her mouth.

Sighing against his lips, she guides the tip of him to her entrance with her hand.

He lets her take the lead, his teeth nibbling over the soft flesh of her lips, physically aching to be inside her.

She raises her hips, craving for him to stretch her, craving to feel how big he is.

The kiss stills as he slinks inside her, all air sucked out of the room for both of them as they join.

Her arms around his neck, she pulls at his lower lip with her teeth, sliding lower along his length.

She gasps when he flips her onto her back, leaving open-mouthed nibbles on her shoulder blade.

Biting down on her lower lip, she tightens her inner muscles around him.

Dragging in a sharp breath, he penetrates deeper, and they both seem to freeze at the sweet sensation of his length in her.

They start to kiss fiercely and hungrily, her heat enveloping him, legs wrapped around his waist. They have a lot of time to make up for.

He's gentle with her and she feels him holding back a little, like he's afraid to push too hard because she's pregnant.

"It's okay," she whispers breathlessly, about to go mad with wanting.

Her words are like fire, and with a growl, he surges into her, his hands curled into fists on the bed sheet.

A half sob half moan breaks out from her as the waves shake her body, threatening to drown her.

Without inhibition, he sinks even deeper, thrusting over and over again with powerful and sleek strokes as they both groan with pleasure.

At her urging, he moves faster, her back arching as she meets his hard thrusts.

When he feels the small quakes starting within her, Nathan seals her mouth with his.

Their hot breathing against each other, he draws back and plunges into her again.

Haley sobs out his name, raising her arms over her head, holding steady onto the headboard as they both approach release, her eyes almost rolling back from the sheer bliss of being so strongly together with him.

Turning her face into his chest, she kisses his glistening skin, her hands lovingly caressing his back and the flexing muscles of his arms and shoulders as he holds his weight.

Fighting his orgasm, his thrust finds that soul-stirring spot he knows from experience sends her flying.

Her breath hot on his neck, she bites down on his shoulder to keep from screaming out loud from the sensual torture, every nerve in her melting with agonizing delight.

He starts to speed up, feeling that surge within him building as the longer, stronger sweeps send convulsions through them both.

Haley whimpers in agreement as she rides towards mindless orgasm, locking her legs around his waist and clinging onto his neck as she waits for him.

Clenching hard around him, she gasps in shock when he drives back into the core of her, shutting her eyes as an endless tremor rolls through their bodies.

She feels him tense, and with a powerful drive and long moan of release, he explodes inside her.

Her chest tightens as her body vibrates and shudders along with his.

Throwing her head back, she delves her tongue deep into his mouth, breathtaking pleasure jarring their entire bodies.

With another fluid stroke from him, a scream lodges in her throat as she spasms and writhes under him, coming instantly.

Their moans increase, that powerful climax taking hold of them.

Tongues tangled in each other, Nathan groans loudly as he comes, over and over again.

His release sends her on another release of her own, her fingernails raked into his back as wave after wave tear through them both.

Spent, he sags forward, careful not to crush her, the thrusts deep inside her becoming gentler and slower.

Bodies sticky and sweaty, they revel in the feeling of being together, neither of them wanting to move.

Limp and barely able to breathe, Nathan withdraws slowly but not completely, pulling her to him, the sound of their racing hearts and laboured breathing permeating around them.

"Oh my G-God," Haley pants on his skin, her voice rough with desire.

"It's no wonder I'm pregnant."

With a breathy laugh, Nathan holds her closely, kissing the side of her neck tenderly.

"I believe you're right," he mutters into her ear.

Her shaky laugh echoes around them as she raises her head.

Being like this with him takes her breath away.

She feels his fingertips on her cheek, brushing at tears she didn't know had spilled.

"You okay?" he asks in a whisper, brushing back a damp curl from her face.

Through the mist of tears, she catches her breath and says, "I just missed you."

"My body, you mean."

Laughing softly, she places her hands on his face, bringing his mouth to hers for a hot, hard and possessive kiss.

His breath catches as she starts to tighten around him, a groan coming from her as their tongues twine together.

He groans, kissing her even more deeply, Haley adjusting herself so that he can ease further into her.

Breaking the kiss, there's a wicked smile on her lips.

"I missed you, too," he grinds out, savouring the warm fullness of her around him.

She shifts him onto his back, holding his arms over his head, her lips trailing along his jaw.

Her breath is warm against his skin as she asks, "Too soon?"

In response, his fingers rake along her sides, shifting her thighs and burying his hardened arousal deeper into her.

She feels giddy with delicious excitement as his hands cup around her ass, his palm swatting her playfully.

"You're crazy if you think that it's too soon," he growls.


	17. Chapter 17

Feathery tickles across her stomach wake her up.

It takes a moment for her to recognize the soft yellow ceiling as that of their bedroom, not the cemented one of the prison cell.

It's still hard for her to believe that she's really home.

Nathan is tracing his fingers lightly on the naked swell of her belly, his lips moving.

"Morning," she says sleepily.

He looks up, the movement of his fingers stilling before he draws the hem of the nightshirt over her legs.

Haley stretches lazily as he snakes his body over hers.

"Morning."

"You smell good."

"Showers do that to me."

With a light and breezy laugh, she nestles against him. He leans closer, their lips grazing lightly over each other's, her fingers raking along his back as they deepen the kiss.

Haley wriggles under him and when she's happy feeling him over the sheet in all the right places, she lets out the tiniest of sighs.

"I have to go to work," he groans softly, reluctant to leave like every morning since Haley came home.

Calling in sick or requesting a day off is no longer in the cards for him. The manager has been on a witch-hunt, itching to fire someone, that someone most likely being him.

The man just can't seem to get it through his skull that there were circumstances preventing him from going to work, say being hospitalized.

When she looks at the alarm clock, it's almost half past seven.

At this time a week ago, she was sorting out books in the prison library.

"I'll keep myself busy," she says, her fingers in his hair. "I'm thinking of taking a shift at the café."

He jerks his head back slightly like in shock. "Are you kidding?"

"Nope. I've been home for four days and I'm really tired of staring at the walls. I need to be productive."

"Why do you have to have a desire to be productive all the time?" he groans, dipping his head to kiss her.

She laughs against his lips. "Because it's just my nature."

"Your annoying nature," he says with a smile, his gaze turning to the nightstand.

"I made you breakfast."

On a tray, there's a plate with three pieces of toast and several slices of bacon, a glass of juice, a cup of tea and a small bowl of fruit.

A sunflower rests on the edge of the tray.

"Thank you. Wait, wasn't it my turn to make you breakfast today for spoiling me so much?"

"Tomorrow."

"Honey, I don't eat that much. I've been struggling to finish everything you've been making me."

"You're pregnant, Hales. You're eating for two."

"That breakfast is for three, and I'm not carrying twins."

"Thank God," he grins, pecking her lips quickly and reaching for the pale blue t-shirt at the foot of the bed.

She sits up, leaning on the headboard as she watches him dress. When she was locked up, she missed the big things that came about with being married to him, but those little moments made her nostalgic. Like sharing a morning routine.

"I'm gaining weight by the minute."

"No, you're not. Take it easy, okay?" he says as he slips the shirt over his head, worry underlying in his tone.

Reaching for the bowl of fruit, Haley nods, plucking a blueberry from the end of the fork with her teeth.

With a kiss to her cheek, he's gone, emptiness settling in around her after the door slams.

* * *

Unfortunately for her when she calls Deb, the only shift available is for tomorrow afternoon.

Sighing for the thousandth time that day, Haley flips over on the bed, thumb clicking the remote just to give her hands something to do.

She's going crazy with boredom.

To keep busy, she's cleaned the apartment, including the fridge, done the laundry, prepared dinner for reheating, and organized the kitchen shelves, cabinets and drawers. She even agreed to have mid-morning tea with Mr. Tomlin when he cornered her as she swept the balcony, and it took effort to pay attention as he rambled about Nathan's alleged, weed-smoking, thieving brother.

There's no one to talk to, either. Peyton and Luke are working and they can't come over until tonight, Brooke is in Raleigh visiting a sick aunt, and Nathan called earlier to say that he would be home late.

With a daytime talk show host interviewing a guest about their shopping addiction in the background, she stretches out her arm to Nathan's nightstand, pulling at the drawer.

Back and forth she pulls at it like she's playing a game.

She tugs at it a little too hard that it falls to the floor with a soft thud.

For a moment, she stares at the mess on the floor, and with a frustrated sigh, she drops to her knees, picking up the disarranged items.

She's always kept out of his drawer, ever since that day long ago she was looking for a pen and instead found an abundance of tickets; tickets for past games, bus tickets, school dance tickets, movie tickets, carnival tickets and even raffle tickets.

Her husband has a certain fascination with hoarding tickets, and instead of finding it weird, she thinks it's incredibly sweet that he stashes them away, like he's saving memories in his own way.

He, in turn, has protested about it being sentimental, saying that it's more about seeing how many tickets he can rack up in a lifetime.

Like she believes him.

The yellow envelope is lying at the bottom of the drawer, and at the sight of the letterhead, that shame that she feels when she thinks about the divorce creeps along her spine like an icy hand.

It's going to take a long time for her to forgive herself for throwing in the towel on her marriage.

She'd asked Jean to call Christopher, and when he came by the prison the following day, she'd told him what she wanted, trusting him to draw them up without her having to read them through.

Partly, she was afraid that she would chicken out if she'd seen them before Nathan had.

There are wrinkles and dirt smudges on the pages, like he studied them over and over, crumpling them in his hand and then straightening them out to do it all over again.

In the place where his signature should be, he had scrawled in what looks like angry strokes, "over my dead body".

Pleasure adds onto that shame when she reads those words.

A blissful little smile settles on her lips as she rereads them, her finger tracing the dark ink.

She rests back on the bed, emitting a soft sigh as her head hits Nathan's pillow, holding the envelope close to her chest.

Over my dead body.

Despite their grimness, they are the four best words she'd ever want to see on her divorce papers.

* * *

The soft melody of the song she's specifically set to his number rouses her.

Groaning, she raises her head, feeling something stuck to her cheek.

Eyes still shut, she plucks the envelope away from her face before fumbling to reach for the ringing phone under her pillow.

"'llo?"

_"Hey,"_ Nathan says over the line.

She mumbles incoherently, stuck in dreamland.

_"Hales?"_

"Hm?"

_"I'm about to lock up here. Do you need anything?"_

Her eyes fly open, colliding into the numbers of the alarm clock.

7:26PM.

The TV is still on, a music show on screen, the afternoon having rolled away while she slept, which she can't even remember doing.

"Gummy worms," she finally says, stifling a yawn and rolling over to her back.

She hears him laugh softly, clinking sounds in the background.

_"Gummy worms. No pickles?"_

Oddly, her stomach rumbles slightly at the thought of a combination of something sweet and sour.

"Since you've mentioned it…"

He laughs again before muttering quietly to someone he's with about bike helmets.

_"Okay. I'll see you in a while, alright?"_

"Be safe. I love you."

_"I love you, too."_

* * *

Stepping out of the bathroom after a leisurely bath, Haley hums softly as she makes her way to the dresser while drying her hair.

A muffled crash from the living room startles her, the towel in her hand stilling.

Could it be Nathan?

It's only been fifteen minutes since they spoke and it usually takes him a little longer to get home due to traffic.

Dropping the towel at the edge of the bed, she cautiously opens the door a crack.

"Nathan?"

He doesn't answer.

"Babe, is that–"

She gasps when she sees a shadow dart across from the living room to the kitchen.

Her fingers are trembling as she turns the doorknob to lock the door and flip the light switch.

"Oh my God."

Eyes on the door, she backs away quickly, rushing to the pillows to grab her cell phone.

Her body is quaking as she rummages through Nathan's bedside drawer for the business card she's after.

Gripping the small card in her hand, she first calls for local help.

_"911, what's your emergency?"_

Somewhat calmly, she's able to rattle off her predicament.

"My name is Haley Scott and I'm at 176 Oakmont Terrace, apartment 11. There's a burglar in my house. Please hurry!"

Hanging up, she keys in the numbers on the card. She's already losing her cool when the detective finally picks up.

_"Detective Collins."_

"Detective! Th-there's an intruder in my home," she stammers, heart hammering at an insane speed.

_"Who is this?"_ the detective grumbles.

"Haley Scott! I'm–"

She jumps back when like in slow motion, the doorknob turns slowly, the person on the other side starting to jiggle it to get it open.

"Oh my God…Please help me! I'm alone and someone has broken into my house!"

The doorknob starts to squeak instead of jiggle, like it's giving in to the efforts of the one who wants in.

_"What room are you in right now?"_

The detective is now alert, and she can hear rustling sounds over the line.

"Bedroom."

_"Is there someplace where you can hide?"_

"The bathroom. But…but the lock is broken," she whispers in horror, glancing over at the bathroom's handle.

They've asked the superintendent to fix it repeatedly but he never does, even when he's said he will.

_"I'm on my way."_

Cell phone in hand, Haley drops to her knees, hands splayed on the carpet as she looks under the bed for a weapon of some kind.

Her forehead is spotting a sheen a sweat when she scrambles off it to grab Nathan's baseball bat in a corner of the room.

It feels heavy and she wonders if she has the strength to swing it and attack someone.

Then again, she has a helpless, blameless baby to think about; if mothers can overturn cars to get to their trapped children, goddammit she can swing a bat to protect hers.

She prepares herself in a defensive stance, her legs slightly apart, swaying her knees from side to side, gulping down one lump of fear after another.

Eyeing the now-quiet door, she presses the cell phone to her ear. Her call is going unanswered, just endlessly ringing and then redirecting her to voice mail.

The door starts to jangle again as she redials the number for the third time.

"Oh, God."

Wetting her dry mouth, she drops the phone on the bed, flexing her clammy fingers and palms around the bat.

"Whoever you are, I have a gun!" she yells with false boldness.

The rattling stops and she holds her breath.

A laugh pierces through the door, making her jump back, the bat sliding slightly.

Loud, mean and cold.

If it's one of her friends, she will bash their heads in for scaring the hell out of her and worse, scaring her baby, too.

Suddenly, the door bursts open with a deafening crack, like some piece holding it together has been broken.

Haley screams out in shock, forgetting about the bat and letting it fall; a few more inches and she would have lost some toes.

A petite and feminine shadow in the doorway steps leisurely into the bedroom.

"Is that your gun?" the female voice asks with amusement.

Haley is too stupefied to react.

"I heard you got out," the stranger says.

Shock slowly gives way to anger.

"Who the hell are you!" Haley barks furiously.

The shadow reaches for the light switch, bathing the room in soft, yellow light.

"Really, Hales. Is that any way to speak to your twin?"


	18. Chapter 18

"Thanks," Nathan tells the clerk before stepping out into the hot night.

Even in his light t-shirt, the heat is seeping through, making the shirt stick to his back like a magnet.

Popping open the bottle of ice-cold water, he takes a long swig, the cool drink refreshing his dry mouth and throat. He can't wait to get home and sit in front of the fan until his skin grows goose bumps.

Thinking of home, his lips break into a smile, knowing that Haley is there.

For that month she'd been in prison, the apartment had ceased to feel like home and transformed into a mausoleum.

He's just opened the car door when he hears sirens. Taking another sip, he watches a police cruiser zooming past, lights flashing.

Involuntarily, he shudders slightly when he remembers similar lights in their parking lot when Haley got arrested.

Which led to grave events that included both of them getting attacked.

If he ever bumps into Toothpick Guy, he will make him eat crow and gulp it down with a tall glass of screw you.

He drops the paper bag on the passenger seat, the bouquet of white peonies on top of them, and rolls down the window before slamming the door closed.

When he turns the ignition, the little Mazda cranks up instantly.

"Good girl," Nathan mumbles, patting the dashboard.

The car has not stalled and his wife is at home.

It's going to be a good night.

* * *

"What…what are you talking about?" Haley asks once she's able to breathe again, if her heart clambering at her throat can be termed as breathing.

The girl before her, auburn hair pulled back into a ponytail, brown eyes as wide as saucers, face made up impeccably, gives a half-smile.

"I'm your sister, silly."

Haley now feels like her heart has moved to her ribs, and she wishes the dastardly thing would just decide on where it wants to beat from.

Her sister?

The girl bursts out into one of her raucous laughs, a laugh that reflects no humour in her eyes.

"I'm just messing with you!"

A whoosh of air leaves Haley's lips before she can stop it.

"What are you doing here? What do you want?"

Each word is pointed and punctuated.

"I have some unfinished business with you," the girl says calmly, taking a step forward.

Haley moves back, her hip bumping against Nathan's nightstand, causing the lamp to shake.

"And you had to scare the crap out of me to do it?" she spits angrily.

The girl's eyes narrow slightly before her face irons out, her full lips breaking into a grin.

"I knew there was something I liked about you."

Scared and panicking, Haley steps forward, feigning courage.

"Could you please leave? I've called the co–"

Something dark comes over the girl and she reaches for Haley's damp hair, gripping fistfuls of it and pushing her so hard that she crashes to the floor.

"What the– are you insane!" Haley screeches, rolling to her back to look up at the intruder.

The girl cackles, crouching to look Haley in the eye.

"Obviously. I broke in, didn't I?"

That darkness is further evident by her stony face and cold eyes that show no warm emotion.

"Who are you?" Haley squeaks, frightened beyond measure for herself and her baby.

The girl stands with a jump. "Who am I? Don't you remember me, Hales?"

It unsettles Haley just how this stranger is using her nickname with such familiarity, when that face isn't registering in her memory.

Did they go to high school together?

The girl groans loudly, as if exasperated by something a mother, sister or friend has said or done.

"Fine. I'll tell you."

She flops down on the bed, crossing her legs like in meditation, clapping her hands giddily like a schoolchild.

And what is she wearing? It is the exact replica of what she had on earlier today, the coral tank with ruffled layers and spaghetti straps, the cuffed jeans and the gladiator sandals.

What is going on?

"Remember a couple of months ago when I came into the café and we talked about me moving here?"

Nothing clicks into place in Haley's mind.

"Jesus fucking Christ, Hales! At least try!" the girl growls, and then the irritated expression is gone.

"You asked me if I was new in town and I said yes and then you welcomed me, telling me just what a great place Tree Hill was blah blah blah."

Her face turns almost dreamy, like she's really been sucked into that memory.

"You have such a pretty laugh," she sighs.

Spooked out by the girl's words and moods, Haley lifts herself slowly to a more comfortable position; as comfortable as one can be on the floor after being attacked by a clearly disturbed woman.

"Anyway, I watched you struggle making my drink and it was so cute how you blushed."

She looks down at Haley, an apologetic look on her face. "Not often that people order a caramel macchiato in Tree Hill, huh?"

It clicks into place, like oiled gears restarting and spinning madly.

"Your hair…" Haley whispers.

The girl reaches for her hair, untying the ponytail and running a hand over the straight auburn hair.

"Oh, this? I've always had a bit of a problem with dyeing it."

She laughs, shaking out her hair. "That's right! We met when I was a brunette!"

Haley remembers the friendly dark-haired girl who had ordered a caramel macchiato those months ago.

Usually, the café didn't serve any fancy coffee drinks beyond the basic cappuccinos but it was a slow day, so she decided to give it a try.

That girl had been nice, extremely patient when Haley laughed her way through making her coffee while referring to a website on her phone.

After her meal, she had stopped by the table where Haley sat with Brooke and Peyton to say thank you and goodbye, shaken their hands and left a hefty tip. Her friends had mentioned how uncanny it was that they looked alike but Haley couldn't see it.

That girl had been nice, not the mood-flipping version that broke into their apartment.

"What's your name?"

* * *

"You just had to break down, didn't you?"

Nathan kicks at the tyre again, leaning his hands on the car. With a sneer of disgust on his face, he stares down at the hissing engine emitting grey smoke.

Stuck in a deserted road with a dead car.

"Piece of crap," he mutters, pushing away from the hood.

He leans through the window, rummaging over the paper bag and flowers for his cell phone.

Three missed calls are displayed on screen, all from one person.

Haley.

Dialing his voicemail, he leans back on the car, looking down the road for a sign of an oncoming car.

He badly needs a tow truck, and this time, he'll probably just let this piece of rusty bucket taken to the junk–

_"Whoever you are, I have a gun!"_

He tenses up, standing ramrod straight at her voice.

A gun? Why would she be–

The answer slams into him like a ton of bricks.

"Oh, shit."

Blood is fizzing in his veins as he looks whichever way down the road, replaying Haley's message.

He stops, thinking about the police car he saw earlier rushing past, siren wailing.

Not missing a beat, he starts running down the road towards home, towards Haley.

Even with the speed, his feet feel anchored, like he's moving backwards or on the spot. He can't get home fast enough.

He's not gotten far when he hears sirens squalling behind him. Without a second thought, he runs to the middle of the road, raising his arms in a move to halt the car.

"STOP!"

The sound of squealing tires is followed by a loud expletive from the driver.

Slapping his palms against the hood of the car, Nathan hurries to the driver's door, seeing none other than Detective Collins behind the wheel.

"She's at my house! Haley…"

He gulps in a lungful of air. "It's her, isn't it?"

"Get in the back," the detective commands.

* * *

"Morgan. Morgan De Wilde."

Haley senses regret and sorrow in the girl's voice when she says her name.

"Why did you move here?"

Her face clears up and she grins like a little girl. "The ocean. Missouri wasn't doing it for me anymore."

"That's where you're from?"

She needs a few minutes to figure out what to do. Engaging Morgan in small talk will give her some time.

Morgan shakes her head reluctantly, a scowl crossing her face.

"They sent me to Missouri. _Banished_ me."

She snorts, cocking her head to the side and looking down at her with interest.

"I suppose they didn't want me to embarrass the family name had people found out about…my problems."

Haley was half-listening as Morgan spoke but at the mention of banishment, her ears perk up.

"Your problems?"

Morgan doesn't respond, rubbing at each of her wrists aggressively.

"I don't want to talk about me anymore. I feel like we're in a session. On the other hand, you have been so quiet since you got out of prison. I've only seen you leave the apartment twice in the last few days."

Her eyes narrow into slits and a taunting smile forms on her lips.

"Were you scared, Hales?"

This is the girl responsible for everything she's been through, and she's mocking her with all that's happened the past month.

That terror-inspired glob forming in Haley's chest slides slowly to the pit of her stomach.

"It was you, wasn't it?"

* * *

There are at least three police cruisers in the parking lot.

A barrier has been set up yards away from the building, curious neighbours murmuring amongst themselves and pointing to apartment 11.

Two uniformed police officers are approaching the door, hands poised over the weapons on their belts.

Petrified at what waiting any longer could do, Nathan makes a move to start for the staircase but Detective Collins pulls him back.

"Where do you think you're going?"

He loosens his hand from the detective's grip. "My wife is stuck in our apartment with the lunatic who framed her for murder!"

"It's our job to do this tactically, to make sure that no one gets hurt, especially your wife."

"We have no back door, detective! And as you can see, our apartment is not any close to the roof, either. How are you going to do this _tactically_?" he spits angrily, wanting to run up those stairs and get to Haley.

"Leave that to us."

He looks Nathan up and down. "For your protection, I suggest you grab a bulletproof vest from the backseat of my car."

He narrows his eyes at the older man before jogging over to the car.

"Where?" he yells.

"Look under the other seat."

Maneuvering his whole body into the backseat, he reaches under the driver's seat, patting around for a vest.

"I can't–"

The door slams closed behind him.

He sits up fast, reaching for the lock.

"Hey! What the hell!"

DeLong is standing outside, a wide sadistic grin on his face.

"Stay put," he growls. "Detective's orders."

No matter how hard he tries, he can't get out. There's a metal grill between the front and back, and the locks are triggered in such a way that criminals can't dare open the doors from inside the car.

He lets out a frustrated yell, smacking his palms against the grill.

"Feel better, little bird?" DeLong asks snidely from outside.

Flipping him the bird, Nathan whips out his cell phone, hitting the first number on his speed dial.

* * *

"Ta-da! I hope I lived up to the mystery."

Morgan giggles, combing a hand through her hair.

"I saw him looking at you."

Shaken, Haley is hardly able to think straight as she looks up at Morgan.

This is someone capable of cold-blooded murder, someone who won't think twice about sparing a life and letting someone else get blamed for it.

"Who?"

"The clerk."

Haley just stares at her, unable to comprehend why someone could do something like this.

"Is this what it's about? Some guy was checking me out?" she asks in disbelief.

A look of concentration comes over Morgan before she says, "I was having a bad day and I didn't like what he was doing."

She grimaces, sticking her tongue out of her mouth in disgust.

"Men are filthy pigs, Hales, don't you think so?"

Who has a bad day that leads into killing someone?

"You're crazy."

Morgan shrugs indifferently. "I'm not usually so out of control but you know how it is."

"No, I don't know," Haley says, taking a glance at the open bedroom door, that blob in her tummy bouncing and bouncing.

She has to get off the floor.

"He had nothing against you but you just killed him."

"Don't you see? He was going to get to you before I did. I did you a favour," she says curtly. "You should be thanking me."

Haley wants to burst out laughing.

"Why mess with me? My life? What did I do to you? I met you once."

Morgan looks at her sympathetically and then smiles wryly.

"I have problems, remember?"

"What kind of problems?"

The cell phone rings from the bed, startling them both.

Morgan reaches for it, staring at the screen. "Look at that. It's your hubby."

She winks at Haley, canceling the call. "He's hot, Hales. You did good."

As she is momentarily distracted, Haley scrambles off the floor and runs towards the door, slamming it shut behind her and beelining for the front door.

It's locked shut.

She rams her palm against it, screaming out loud as the tears pool in her eyes.

"Oh my God, NO!"

"Hales! That was a very sneaky move on your part," Morgan scolds from the hallway, dangling a Snoopy keychain from her hand.

The girl resembles someone who suffers some sort of mental disorder and is off their meds.

In a mad panic, Haley runs to the window, drawing back the sheer curtain to get to the latch.

The red and blue lights from police cars at the parking lot are striking against the dark apartment complex.

Help is here.

Jiggling the latch, it doesn't budge. Scared, furious and almost in tears, Haley cusses, pressing her fingers harder on the lock.

Just when it gives in, Morgan pulls her back by her hair, sending her falling hard to the floor.

She tries to cushion her fall but the force of the push works against her. Sharp and excruciating pain hits quickly, right in her gut, right in her pregnant stomach.

A loud gasp escapes her and she flips onto her back immediately, her pulse skyrocketing as she reaches for her stomach, hoping that it's all some horrible dream.

She rolls over to the side, on bended knees as she huffs and puffs loudly.

"You're not a very good opponent, Hales," Morgan snarls with disgust, standing over her.

Before she can even think of what to do, she hears the unmistakable sound of a gun cocking reverberating across the room.

_Click-click._

When she first used one at the range a month ago, it didn't sound as ominous. But that click is enough to discern the distinctive sound of a gun being readied for shooting.

She's losing her sanity as the fear takes possession of her.

Breath rasping in her lungs, Haley raises her head, finding herself looking into the barrel of a gun.

Everything stops, blood draining from her face as fright and terror swirl together, dulling her senses.

She can't see or hear anything other than the gun aiming straight at her.

She doesn't even blink for fear that she's imagining that steel barrel just centimetres away from her face.

She's transfixed on it, Morgan's forefinger blurry and contrasting against the silver trigger.

Is the gun loaded?

She flinches when Morgan jabs the tip of the revolver to her forehead, poking at her like she's teasing.

The cold metal sends the cold claws of fear digging into her, leaving her insides shivering, her heart wanting to explode right out of her chest.

"I can put a bullet right here, you know," Morgan says lazily, pressing the revolver harder to her soft flesh.

A shuddering whimper rockets through Haley at the deadly calm in Morgan's voice.

She raises her frightened, misty eyes slowly, her gaze going past the barrel.

Morgan is studying her, a leer on her face as she holds the gun steady like she knows exactly what to do with it.

Haley knows she would be crazy to underestimate Morgan's expertise in handling a gun.

She's killed before.

It's a losing battle trying to control the tears. She's trembling and sweating all over when they start their course down her cheeks.

Feeling faint with the fear of God, she watches in horror as Morgan raises the gun and pulls the trigger.

* * *

The team outside doesn't miss a thing when Haley is dragged away from the window.

Fear has clogged Nathan's throat but he screams, "DID YOU SEE THAT!"

He smacks his shoulder against the closed door, wanting to break it loose.

"Get me out of here!"

Detective Collins looks over his shoulder at the screaming man.

"Get me the hell out of here or I swear to God I'm going to wreck your car!"

He feels ready to pounce and kill as he glares at them.

At the detective's nod, DeLong reaches for the handle, looking disgruntled.

Nathan scrambles out of the car, ignoring the irritated cop and staring up at the apartment.

There's no movement, the officers by the door trying to peer through the window.

"Why aren't they doing anything?" he asks with a strain to his voice.

Detective Collins glances at him quickly, and before he can answer, the walkie-talkie in his hand crackles, a voice saying, _"Suspect is armed, over."_

Swallowing hard, Nathan's gaze flickers from the walkie-talkie to the apartment.

"Armed? What does that mean? Is–"

A gunshot then explodes in the air, followed by a chilling scream.

* * *

The involuntary scream flies out of her when the first deafening shot rings out.

Cowering on the floor with her hands over her ears, a terror-stricken Haley shuts her eyes tightly, unable to stop screaming.

Less than a second later, another shot echoes through the apartment.

More hysterical screams and cries of fear burst from her throat as one after another, the gunshots roar over her head, landing God-knows-where.

The horrifying reality of a bullet hitting her is too much, her mind reeling with the thought that one of those bullets will ricochet and kill her.

* * *

For the briefest instant, Nathan is frozen.

It doesn't make sense to him why a flash of lightning specifically targeted their apartment, bringing with it something that sounded like gunfire.

The cackling walkie-talkie rams through his fuzzy thoughts.

_"Shot fired! I repeat, shot fired!" _

Everything is resuming once again, reviving his brain shutdown.

The screaming neighbours, the police cars, the gunshot.

"Oh my God…"

He's blindingly aiming for the stairs when strong hands grab him, pinning his arms behind his back.

"HALEY!"

The shock and horror amplify to complete delirium when another shot explodes.

And then another, and another, until everything is quiet again.

He knows he's screaming her name and fighting against the firm grip around him but he can't make out his voice.

He can only hear her terrified screams.

* * *

Haley is still crying when the gunshots stop.

She wants to pass out, emotions bubbling inside her like a flowing brook.

"STOP IT!" Morgan yells, slapping a hand away from her ear.

She stops, but it's impossible for her to control the rattling tremors in her body.

Raising her shaking hands to her face, she swipes at the tears that are blinding her.

She opens her eyes slowly, afraid to see what else Morgan is holding over her face.

Nothing, but she still looks dangerous.

"Coward," Morgan grunts.

A thunderous roar then leaves her as she draws back her foot and aims it at Haley's side.

Haley reacts a little too late.

With the force of a sledgehammer, the kick sends a sudden onset of pain right to the core of her.

Everything comes to a halt.

Pain flashes in her skull, colours of red and grey start dancing before her eyes as that pain shatters and rips her apart from the inside out.

Coiled into a ball, she wraps her arms around herself, breathless, tears seeping through to trail down the side of her face.

Before she can fully recover from the first one, another hit in the same spot sends her head spinning.

She feels sick, her trembling hands cradling her stomach protectively and in silent prayer.

The same silent prayer she was chanting for her baby at NCCo when Tess and her gang ambushed her.

Screwing her eyes shut, she writhes on the floor, feeling the radiating pain travel to the depths of her soul.

She has no idea how long she's stuck in that place, hearing nothing and seeing so many colours.

Above that pain, she hears Morgan's voice but she can't sort out what it's saying.

Her head throbbing, she tries to suck in air. She concentrates really hard, but the effort seems to intensify the pain.

Little by little, her ears stop ringing and she's wrenched out of that bright place, her breathing becoming quick and shallow.

It's only when she's able to breathe more slowly that she feels Morgan's foot striking against her own like she's trying to get her attention.

"Get up," Morgan commands with another smack to her foot.

Hunching over, Haley supports herself on unsteady hands and knees, her hair falling over her face.

A hand over her middle, she draws out a shuddering breath, aching for her child.

He has to be okay. He just has to.

She then raises her head gradually. Through that pulsing pounding in her head and the blurred vision, she makes out Morgan's features.

The icy glare, the auburn hair, the outfit that's exactly like hers…and the kitchen knife in her hand.

The thick blade gleams under the light as Morgan turns it over in her hand, as if she's awaiting the perfect moment to strike.

Gritting her teeth, Haley raises her eyes to Morgan's face, unblinking while staring at the crazy woman.

"Are you planning to kill yourself, too?" she hisses, her gaze darting quickly to the window.

If she could just get to it, she could give herself a chance to run.

"What did you think would happen if you killed me without them there?" she asks hoarsely, jutting her chin at the window.

"You replace me in my life? Brainwash people into thinking I never left? Be a wife to my husband and hope he doesn't notice the difference between us? That doesn't sound like a very smart plan."

"I'm holding the knife here, Hales," Morgan says, raising the blade.

Haley can only fake being brave. She's had time to practice while locked up.

"You're not leaving here a free woman, Morgan. It's either handcuffs or a body bag. And unlike you, I don't consider murder having a bad day."

Morgan's stare has been unwavering on her face but when Haley stands fully, her eyes fall to Haley's stomach.

That terror slithers through Haley at the venomous look and before she can blink, Morgan lashes out.

Like she's seeing it in slow motion, the knife in Morgan's hand swiftly disappears around her left side before it's back in view.

"You're fucking pregnant!?" she howls, spit flying out of her mouth.

Haley feels the blade slice into her, sending a stirring sensation through her bloodstream that is a hot combination of electric shock and fire.

Dazed, her hand touches her stomach and slowly, she raises it to her face.

Blood as red as wine is smeared on her palm and fingers, and she just stares at her hand in mute shock.

Something warm is spreading around her waist, soaking her tank top and leaving it clinging to her body like clear wrap.

It starts to trickle slowly down the flesh of her thigh, gliding over her body until she feels it at her heel.

She thinks of everything that's happened the last month, right from the moment the police cuffed her and threw her in jail, being completely helpless when three women attacked her for no reason, being completely helpless when Jean…

All for something she didn't do, something that Morgan did for the most insane reason.

Through her hurting head, she feels something lethal flowing through her veins.

She can't see anything other than Morgan, a stranger who framed her murder, a stranger who wants to kill her and her baby.

With a shriek of anger and fear tearing from her, Haley charges at Morgan, aiming for her throat.

As they fall to the balcony, she doesn't pay attention to the shattering glass but she hears a crunching sound, like a cracking egg.

Atop Morgan, she raises her fist and catches her across her cheek.

"You crazy bitch!" she screams, that anger lancing her head going a notch higher when she thinks about Morgan's intentions for her baby.

"I never did anything to you!"

When she's about to strike again, Morgan jerks, shoving her away.

It catches Haley off guard, her ankle twisting as she falls on her back.

With a roar of her own, Morgan lunges, grabbing her by the hair and yanking her head back like a watermelon.

Haley hits her head on the cemented floor, the impact sending a hard pain thrumming through her skull.

_"Freeze!"_ a male voice yells from above them.

Neither of them pay attention, with Morgan growling incomprehensibly, her hands now loosened from Haley's hair and smacking at her arms.

She manages to push Morgan away, her turn at yanking at Morgan's hair, cussing her out for everything she's gone through because of her.

Mid-rant, Morgan grabs at the wound on her stomach, squeezing it so forcefully that it leaves Haley gasping for breath.

With a howl, Haley falls back, a muffled scream in her throat as she reaches for her side.

She wants to vomit from the woozy feeling and the thudding in her head.

Her first catfight and instead of fingernails, it's been all about bullets, knives and broken glass.

Morgan screams about killing her from over her and through half-closed eyes, Haley sees her holding a shard of glass.

Unable to move, she just shuts her eyes, waiting to feel where those jagged edges will tear at her.

She hears something zapping and when she forces her eyes open, she sees her attacker thrashing over her, eyes rolled back.

Morgan goes still, her body swaying like she's about to topple over her.

With the last ounce of strength she has left, Haley moves away slightly, letting Morgan fall limp beside her.

She hears the thunderous footsteps before seeing the rotund face leaning down.

_"You okay?"_

Realizing who it is, she closes her eyes with a soft sigh, relaxing as the walls start to cave in.

Frantic, Nathan pushes past the detective, crouching beside Haley and scooping her into his arms.

"Oh, God. Hales, baby, can you hear me?"

Face only inches away from hers, he tucks an arm around her neck, his trembling hand trailing down her face.

His eyes roam over her body, trying to find any mark on her.

The sight of the blood on her stomach scours his heart like a branding iron.

"Oh my God..."

He raises his head to the detective, barking, "Where the hell is the ambulance!"

Her eyes are still closed as he looks down at her. He presses a kiss to her forehead, muttering, "You'll be okay. You're going to be okay."

His lips lower to hers, and he has to close his eyes to stop himself from screaming.

"Honey, you gotta wake up. Hales..."

Through a haze of pain, Haley hears a soothing voice saying her name from far, far away.

She feels a familiar hand cradling her face, a thumb caressing her cheek, a calming warmth pressed against her.

Trying to peel her eyes open, they don't obey; the pain is too much and she just wants to sleep.

With much focus, her eyes flicker open, coming in contact with that face she loves so much.

Images are swirling, people are yelling, and that soothing voice is frantically begging her to wake up.

Softly, she breathes out, "Baby."

Her eyes are already closing as she falls back into that cushioning lassitude.

"Haley!" he yells, shaking her once.

She doesn't respond, but he can see that she's breathing.

What scares him the most is the patch of blood on her stomach.

At the movement beside him, Nathan's gaze slides to the groaning woman beside Haley.

His eyes are blazing as he watches hers slowly starting to open.

Grabbing her neck violently, he shakes her hard and growls, "You better hope to God that she's okay."

Letting her go, he sees the imprint of his hand around her neck; something he hopes will be permanent, something for her to remember him by.

The woman groans, her eyes shutting before she's pulled to her feet.

Should anything happen to Haley, or their baby, he will hunt down that psychotic bitch like a mad dog and kill her.


	19. Chapter 19

Cracking his knuckles, pacing back and forth at the front desk like a caged circus tiger, Nathan imagines the worst as he waits for the doctor.

It's been over an hour since the ambulance got to the hospital, when Haley was taken away and he was told to wait.

He stops where he is, staring down at his shirt.

Streaks of blood, Haley's blood, decorate parts of the pale blue shirt, stains reminding him of his greatest fear.

Running his hands through his hair, he starts pacing again.

His mind is on overdrive, eyes jumping from one part of the reception area to another.

At first, he wonders what a coincidence it is that Lucas and Peyton are there but then he remembers that he called them.

They're both panting as they get to him, their faces coated with worry.

"Where is she?" Lucas asks breathlessly, looking around them.

Nathan points to the automatic doors, huffing out, "They won't let me in."

In rushed sentences, he explains what happened at the apartment, still pacing, still jumpy.

"Maybe we should sit down," Peyton says when he's done.

He looks at her for a moment as if trying to understand what she's saying before he nods.

"Nathan Scott?"

Whipping his head sharply to the voice, he finds a short, dark-haired doctor in purple scrubs holding a chart, a stethoscope around her neck.

"That's me."

"I'm Dr. Lee and I've been attending to your wife."

"What's happening? How is she?"

He wants to grab her by the shoulders and shake everything out of her.

"She's getting stitched up but you can see her in a little while," she says.

"Other than her stomach, she required stitches at the back of her head. She also lost some blood, and due to the pregnancy, we're going to give her some from the blood bank."

"Is she going to be okay?"

The doctor nods, flipping through the chart. "The wound didn't cut too deep but if she had bled out more than she did, it could have done serious damage."

"What about the baby?" he asks, chest tight as he waits for an answer.

"Until we do an ultrasound, there's no way to tell how the baby is doing."

She gives his arm an affectionate pat before she turns on her sneakers. "Don't worry, alright? It could have been worse."

Don't worry? If there's ever a time that he should worry, that time is now.

Last he checked, his wife was bleeding somewhere along her stomach, and last he checked, that stomach had a baby in it.

* * *

"Thank you, detective," Nathan says into the phone before hanging up.

He's staring at the wall as he mutters, "What a crazy bitch."

Turning to everyone else, he mumbles, "She did all this just for drama."

"What did he say?" Lucas asks, leaning forward.

Dropping into an empty chair, Nathan answers, "She's a missing patient from a mental health clinic in Boston. She got strangely attached to Haley when they met at the café."

Lucas appears confused. "They met? When?"

Nathan shrugs. The only person who can answer that is Haley.

"I don't–"

Realization hits him when he recalls the woman's face, pitting it against the one he saw tonight.

"Holy shit."

He shakes his head in disbelief as he remembers the red-haired woman in the Pleasant Hill police station parking lot who was asking for directions.

The red-haired woman who was standing beside a goddamn pickup.

She was that close but he had no idea. Was she toying with him when she made contact?

Running a hand over his face, he straightens, leaning his head back on the wall.

"I met her and I…"

He cusses, digging a hand through his hair and muttering softly to himself.

Breathing out heavily, he looks up at his friends.

"She's done this before," he says softly, his eyes darting over all their faces, "and that woman wasn't so lucky."

Brooke's eyes widen in horror. "She…died?"

He nods briefly, jaw tight when he thinks of what could have happened if the cops hadn't been there, if Haley hadn't had her cell phone.

Silence has descended over the group as they sit perched in their seats.

Over the ringing phones, squeaking shoes, beeping machines and conversing medical personnel, they don't hear the doctor approaching until she calls out Nathan's name.

He looks up, standing instantly at the sight of her. "Dr. Lee."

"You can see her now."

He throws their friends a wobbly smile, and they give him grins of encouragement.

There's a sluggishness to his walk as he follows the doctor down the hallway.

"Is she awake?" he asks, anxiety underlying in his tone.

She points to a room on her right near the end of the hallway. "Yes. I'll be back shortly to perform the ultrasound."

Before he opens the door, he puffs air in and out of his mouth, the fright rocking and bouncing through him.

Her being awake has to be a good sign, but what about the baby?

The light green hospital blanket is tucked around her waist, her left ankle wrapped in a bandage, and there are needles inserted to the back of her hand and the crook of her elbow.

She looks frail from the ordeal but a smile forms on her face.

"Hi."

Exhaling loudly, the relief sweeps over him like a current of cold, refreshing water.

"God, you scared the hell out of me," he says hoarsely, walking towards her.

Needing reassurance that she's okay, he bends down to hug her, face buried in her neck.

Her fingers slide into his hair as she presses a kiss beneath his ear.

"It's a good thing that I'm not on a sports scholarship," she whispers.

He laughs softly, kissing the side of her neck tenderly before he pulls away.

"Do you need anything?"

She shakes her head, her eyes turning glassy, chin trembling slightly.

His fingers slide along her jaw and he bends over to touch her lips to his.

"I'm here," he reassures her, foreheads pressed together.

She nods, brushing her mouth across his.

Without loosening his hand from hers, Nathan drags the chair beside the bed closer.

"How do you feel?"

"I'm okay. But I have a killer headache and apparently, a concussion."

"Have they given you something for the pain?"

Her eyes seem hooded as she nods, her free hand massaging her stomach.

"I'm so worried about him, Nathan. I can't…I can't–"

A tear slips down her cheek.

Gulping back the rock in his throat, he croaks, "He's just resting, Hales. You've both had quite a night."

She can only muster an unconvinced nod, grateful that he's trying to make her feel better but completely petrified that the baby is really not resting.

"Where is she?" she asks quietly.

Elbows on the bed, Nathan wraps her hand in both of his, telling her that Morgan is in police custody.

Detective Collins has assured him that she'll be taken away for a long time, this time to a more secure facility.

"She really wanted to kill me," Haley breathes out, her eyes straying to the ceiling.

"And I-I still don't know why."

"She's just crazy, babe."

For now, he won't tell her about the woman who wasn't quite as lucky.

The door swings open, Dr. Lee wheeling in a portable ultrasound machine.

Nathan and Haley tense up, their threaded hands gripping each other's tightly.

They watch silently as the doctor sets up the machine and reaches for the black swivel chair at the foot of the bed.

"You understand that there are no guarantees in medicine," she says with an unreadable face, "but as long as we can locate a heartbeat, there's no reason to expect that this baby won't be perfectly healthy."

They nod, more out of politeness than really coming to terms with whatever negative news they'll receive out of the examination about their baby.

When Haley raises the hem of the hospital gown, Nathan's eyes widen at the wide dressing on the side of her belly.

He doesn't say anything, kissing her knuckles to show his support.

She looks up at him, terror marring her pretty face, her thumb making light strokes along his hand.

It's the third time in a month that she's ever been so scared in her life, and if it were to happen again, she's afraid she's going to go ballistic like a true nut job.

She doesn't even flinch as the cold gel is squeezed out onto her belly; her body is as cold as the jelly itself.

Nathan whispers that it's okay, his eyes trained on hers as they wait to hear something.

Anything.

After excruciating, heart-stopping silence, thumping fills the room.

Steady and strong, the heartbeat of their baby tears through that terror they both harboured.

Haley lets out a heady breath of relief, a choked sob passing her lips as she raises her head to Nathan.

"He's okay," he says, his eyes shining.

Teary-eyed, she nods, meeting his lips for a hard kiss before burying her head in his chest.

With his arms around her, she starts crying, thanking God over and over again amidst her tears.

They don't notice the doctor leave.

Nathan kisses her temple, murmuring in her ear, "My baby's having my baby."

Letting out a strangled laugh, Haley pulls away slightly from him. "You are s-so corny."

"I thought that was what you loved about me."

"One of the things I love about you."

Her smile falters and tears fill her eyes, her shoulders shaking as she starts to sob again.

She's clinging onto him, her fingers gripping his shirt like she'll never let go.

"She c-could have shot me," she cries. She's either coming down from the adrenaline high or she's having a delayed reaction from the night's events.

If Morgan had aimed that gun at her head, she would be dead.

"Stay with me," she says softly without letting go of Nathan's hand, wriggling on the bed to make space for him.

Minutes later, Haley has calmed down. They're still cuddled together on the bed when there's a knock on the door.

Lydia is in tears as she steps in after her husband, a hand over her chest as she looks on at her youngest child.

"We just got here. Are you alright?"

Haley nods, wanting to cry all over again.

"And the baby?" her father asks.

Nathan smiles up at them, his hand over Haley's belly as he replies, "He's fine."

* * *

Alone after her friends have left and Nathan has stepped out to get coffee, she cradles the slight bulge in her hands.

He's okay.

She can't stop thinking of what a turn things would have taken had the baby not–

Shaking her head sharply, she rebukes herself for dwelling on the glum.

The baby's okay, she's okay, they'll all be okay.

Maybe they should name him Miracle, after all.

The fluttering in her stomach comes faintly at first and she's certain that she's imagined it.

Sitting up gingerly, she stares at the wall, waiting to feel it again.

It comes swiftly but gently, like a muscle twitching in her belly.

Whether it's her stomach rumbling from hunger or the baby kicking, she doesn't care. She definitely felt something.

She swears that her smile can light up the world.

The soft tapping on the door reminds her where she is.

Detective Collins is stepping cautiously into the room, a folder in his hands.

He is frowning, unsure of how to proceed. He's puzzled as to why she's smiling when a few hours ago she could have been killed.

"Is this a bad time?"

Her smile drops as her heart starts tripping.

"N-no."

She sits up straighter on the bed, adjusting her aching back on the pillows.

The detective stands by the foot of the bed, gazing around the room with an indecipherable expression.

She thinks she knows why he's here but she'll let him squirm a little more.

They arrested her for something she never did, and threw her in jail to rot away for a quarter of a century.

God, it makes her heart skid to a stop when she imagines being in prison for that length of time.

Detective Collins clears his throat, flipping open the folder in his hands. Chances are that the promotion he's been hoping for will pass him by. The shit really hit the fan with this case.

Haley has no qualms about observing him, his nervousness showing clearly.

"You're here to make sure that I don't sue you."

He looks up quickly, his mouth opening with intent to speak. He shuffles on his feet, shutting the folder and tucking a hand into a pocket of his khaki trousers.

"Shouldn't your precinct lawyer be here?" she asks flatly.

She's gotten her pound of flesh with her biting tone, and with a long breath, she lets him off the hook.

Stretching out her needle-free hand, she wiggles her fingers, pointing to the folder.

"You have a pen?"

Wordlessly, he points out at various dotted lines while she scrawls her signature.

She has an urge to scribble a nasty little note but she desists.

When she's done, he doesn't take the pen from her outstretched hand, his hazel eyes a mixed expression of regret and gratitude.

"I'm sorry," he says softly.

There is a lingering silence as her anger dissipates.

With a curt nod, she leans back on the pillows, crossing her arms carefully over her chest.

Detective Collins moves to the end of the bed, tapping the folder on the footboard.

"She was asking for you earlier, but she's sedated at the moment. Would you like to–"

"No," she exhales sharply. "I don't want to see her."

She's okay with carrying the trauma from this ordeal if she doesn't confront her attacker, but unless hell freezes over, there is no way she is going to be in the same room with Morgan De Wilde.

She is just too emotionally drained to handle more crazy.

Detective Collins dips his head in understanding.

"For two murder charges and an attempted murder charge, she will probably get a life sentence at a maximum security mental institution."

"What are the chances that she'll escape again?" she asks in a low voice.

Morgan doesn't seem the type to forget; she will want to finish what she started.

In the depth of her soul, Haley hopes that Morgan rots away in the institution.

The door swings open, Nathan striding into the room with a smile on his face, two wrapped sandwiches and two steaming paper cups in his hands.

"Good news, babe. I–"

He stops when he sees the detective, the smile dropping, suspicion making him stiffen.

"What's going on?"

Detective Collins holds his gaze, giving them both a nod as he starts for the door.

"Good luck to you both."

Moving towards the bed, there's a curious look on Nathan's face, his eyes glancing between her and the door.

She explains the detective's presence in between sips of hot chocolate.

Laid out beside her, Nathan shakes his head, saying, "I hope they never let her see the light of day. She could have killed you. Both of you."

She squeezes his hand, curling up to him. "I know. Hey."

"Hm?"

"I think he kicked."

Whooping with delight, he strokes her belly, saying, "That's my boy!"

"Or I'm just really hungry," she says between her laughs.

His head snaps back up quickly, his eyes looking her over as he reaches for the bedside table.

"Eat."

With a soft laugh, she unwraps the sandwich, plucking out a slice of green pepper.

"So what's the good news?"

That goofy grin on his face becomes wider.

"Dr. Lee said that you can go home tomorrow."

* * *

"Are they okay with you living there?"

"They're ecstatic. How many people get to see a great-grandchild?"

"People with a family lineage where no one goes past the age of eighteen without having a baby?"

"Is Peyton pregnant, too?"

"Very funny."

"Besides, they're offering us the guesthouse so we'll just be…neighbours."

"Just neighbours? You do know we're talking about May, right?"

"Don't make me start panicking. But it's convenient that they don't live far from Duke, and I can get a job at their country club."

"Are you teaching old people with hip replacements and walkers how to play basketball?"

"I'll miss your sense of humour, Eugene."

"Does she tell you everything?"

"Pretty much."

Nathan looks intently at Haley, where she is walking down the staircase with Brooke and Peyton.

She looks better than she did a month ago; her cheeks are flushed and fuller, though he dare not tell her that they're full, her eyes are brighter, and her smile is coming more easily.

He could attribute all that to the pregnancy but there are other factors in play, like her freedom.

She's been trying but after being accused of murder, it's hard for her to really get back to normal.

The nightmares, the jumpiness and the guardedness that came after the attack were not to be taken lightly. She was okay after being released, she said, but when Morgan came after her, something flipped a little within her.

Lucas wants to tell his brother to take good care of her but he doesn't mind letting it go unsaid.

Nathan would lay his life for Haley.

"The gap year she's taking will give her time to recover," he reassures Nathan with a pat on the shoulder.

Nathan agrees with a nod, eyes still on Haley as she lags a little behind due to her sprained ankle.

It's a little over a week since she was released from hospital and she has one more week to go before she can ditch the wrap.

"Ready, honey?" she calls out when she's a few feet away from them.

Her hand subconsciously reaches to rub at her stomach, the swell of her belly accentuated over her cherry tank top.

Under that top is a long, healing gash that he changed the dressing for this morning.

Nathan pushes away from the car, dropping his crossed arms.

"Yeah. No tears?" he teases, wrapping his arms around her waist.

She laughs, snaking hers around his neck. "I'm feeling very Zen about this."

He scans her face, glowing and radiant, her brown eyes free of any stress.

This is how he likes to see his wife, happy and most of all, free.

"Kinda like a vacation, huh?"

"A vacation that includes classes, term papers and raising a baby?"

"Just like going on spring break."

She laughs again, pulling him closer for a kiss.

Friends think of them as the odd couple. She's studious and he's not, he's athletic and she's not, he's sociable and she likes a certain degree of socializing.

Regardless of their differences, they work, and some of those friends are guilty of being envious of their close relationship.

Although saddened that they're leaving, the friends are happy that they're getting away from what happened over the summer.

"Okay! Enough of that already!" Peyton yells.

"How do you think she got knocked up?" Nathan says, earning a shy laugh and a playful smack from Haley, and a groan from everyone else.

"Enjoy the apartment, Brooke," he adds, looking up at the place that was their home for two years.

Haley sighs wistfully beside him, crooking her elbow to his. "Yeah. It's got great memories."

Other than the horror of her being arrested for murder and the guilty party coming after her with intention to kill, the apartment has good memories for them.

Nathan nuzzles her neck, whispering something that makes her chuckle softly.

"Don't you ever stop?" Skills asks, shaking his head.

A blush creeps up on Haley's face. Nathan grins and answers, "Nope."

The friends groan again, seeming to move a step away from them.

Haley just laughs, putting her arms around Brooke in a hug.

"She's calling again, Hales," Nathan says behind her as he looks down at his cell phone.

"We're dropping by the café to see my parents before heading out," Haley explains as she pulls away from Peyton.

"Call me when you get there," Peyton says, blinking rapidly.

Haley nods, and with a sniffle, the leans into Lucas.

"Y-you promise to visit?"

He hugs her just as tightly as she's holding onto him, feeling a loss at their departure, hers most of all.

"I promise."

Sobbing softly on her best friend's shoulder, she gives him one more squeeze before letting go, wiping her cheeks with the back of her hand.

"Thanks for everything, Luke."

He nods, rubbing her back gently. "Any time."

Nathan is waiting for her by the Mazda, keys in hand.

"You okay?" he asks softly, fingers brushing across her wet cheek.

"Guess I'm not feeling very Zen about this."

He drops a kiss on her temple, his arms going around her neck.

"It's going to be okay," he murmurs.

She nods against his chest emphatically before pulling away.

"We better get going before it gets too late," she says, taking the keys from his hand.

His hands are on her shoulders as he looks at her with hesitation.

"Relax," she tells him. "I'll drive carefully and I'll stay in sight."

He lets out a deep breath before planting a quick kiss on her lips.

"Stay in sight."

He waits for her to slide behind the Mazda's wheel and get comfortable before jumping into the U-Haul in front of it.

Starting the truck, he throws their friends a wave before pulling out of the lot.

Haley, buckled in and feeling a fresh wave of tears about to burst forth, grips the wheel tightly as she turns the ignition.

Perching the bug-eye sunglasses on her nose, she fixes a wide smile on her lips, looking over at the group standing a few feet away.

"See ya later, Ravens."

They grin at her, raising their hands in a wave goodbye.

Soft seat cushion beneath her, cool evening wind blowing through the open windows and a bag of gummy worms on the centre console, she follows the U-Haul towards town, leaving a piece of her constant worry behind.


	20. Chapter 20

**Thank you so much for your support throughout this story!  
**

**Here's a neat little bow to wrap up this tale….**

* * *

**Spring, the following year  
**Snoring softly, mouth slightly open, he's jerked awake from heavy slumber when his phone trills.

Turning his head to the other side, Lucas burrows deeper into the warmth, wondering why there are fire alarms going off in his dream.

A pillow lands heavily on his head, thrown from the other side of the room.

"Wha…?"

"Turn that shit off."

His eyes laden with sleep, he snakes his hand out from under the covers, fumbling to reach for the phone.

"I told you to put that thing on vibrate, you jackass," his roommate grumbles angrily.

"Sorry. Forgot."

Squinting against the burning light from the phone, he focuses on the screen.

Sleep dissolves instantly.

"No fucking way."

"What? Did someone get arrested?" the roommate mumbles, trying to sink back into unconsciousness.

"My brother."

"Your brother got arrested?"

"No. Well, my best friend got arrested for murder but she's okay now."

The roommate is awake, reaching over to turn his lamp on, the room getting bathed in a warm glow.

He props himself up on his elbows, looking across the room curiously at his grinning roommate.

"Let me get this straight. Your best friend, _she_ got arrested for murder?"

As if in a glorious daze, Lucas answers, "Yeah. But she was innocent. Spent a month in prison, though."

Lucas shakes the phone at him, grinning like a cat that just ate the canary.

"They had a baby."

She wasn't due for another two weeks. When they talked this afternoon via video chat, she had mentioned feeling more exhausted than usual, attributing it to being on bed rest for too long.

He'd heard Nathan yelling in the background about her not being on enough bed rest.

He looks back at the phone screen, unable to stop a merry little laugh.

He's an uncle.

Haley is in a hospital gown, holding the little bundle wrapped in a white blanket, with Nathan's arm around her. They're looking into the camera, smiling widely, their faces flushed with happiness.

Attached to the image is a message.

_Meet James Lucas Scott! 6lbs, 8 ounces. Call you soon._

**Meanwhile, in Durham…  
**"Lucas replied with about a hundred exclamation points. I think he's speechless."

Haley smiles, unable to look away from the little face she's holding.

"You sent it to everyone, though?"

"Yeah. And Peyton says that you better call her or else."

"I miss her."

"I'm sure she'll come visit soon."

"Are you okay with her being godmother?"

"I am. The one we should be worried about is Brooke."

"I know," she says with a sad sigh. "Where…where are your grandparents?"

"I sent them home."

Nathan reclaims the spot beside her on the bed, and she leans slightly into him.

"You need to rest," he says, kissing her temple.

"I'm not ready to give him up yet."

As tired and sore as she is, having her new baby in her arms trumps over that exhaustion.

"God, Nathan, he is so beautiful."

"So fucking beautiful," he whispers, reaching to rub his sleeping son's pink cheek with the back of his finger.

He's so terrifyingly small.

Haley laughs softly, looking up at him. "You realize that you're going to have to cool it on the language?"

"Me? You have been using words you picked up from truckers for the last few months."

"Truckers, sailors and your grandfather."

"I still can't get over that old coot yelling at motorists and calling them bloody fucking fools."

She laughs, shifting a little on the bed.

"I can take him for a while," Nathan offers. Nine hours and thirty-two minutes of labour and she's still wide awake.

Teary-eyed, she returns her gaze to her son, unable to believe that part of her made him.

He's like a perfect present after a long year that included some really bad things, the fortune at the end of the rainbow.

She suffered regular nightmares for a while; sometimes once a night, sometimes twice in a night.

They'd leave her soaked in a sweat, horrid as they were of Morgan hacking the baby out of her and leaving her to bleed to death.

Nathan insisted that they move to Durham before the school year.

Things got better, the nightmares became less frequent, but she was uneasy and restless.

James is here; he's that peace she was looking for, the missing piece of the puzzle that has completed her.

Nathan gently removes the headband in her hair, dropping it on the bedside table and shaking her hair loose.

"Thank you," she whispers, still peering down at James.

"For the baby or letting your hair breathe?"

She laughs, feeling his tiny feet move underneath the blanket. "Both. Him most of all."

Haley brings him close, kissing his small forehead before passing him to Nathan.

Feeling unsteady, he works with great care to hold the fragile baby, cradling and settling his small weight in his arms.

The way Haley holds him so tenderly is like she's done it a hundred times before, but for him, he's afraid to drop him.

"He looks like you," she points out softly, the sight of her husband holding their baby a heartwarming portrait.

Last summer, she was worried about being in shackles while she was in labour, Nathan not with her, her baby being taken away after he was born.

This summer, she'll be changing diapers, wiping spittle off her clothes and begging for uninterrupted sleep. But in comparison to being in prison without her baby, she'll pick the lack of sleep every time.

To think that she would have missed the leisure of holding her baby, when he would have been ripped out of her arms the second he was born.

"Nah. I think he looks like his mom," he says, staring at his son with wonder. "Same smile, same nose."

"He hasn't smiled yet."

"Yeah, he did. When he opened his eyes and saw me. He just knew he'd met his Daddy. Didn't you, baby James?"

Haley chuckles, draping the blanket tighter around the baby.

"What do you think his nickname could be? I think James is too formal."

Nathan looks at James keenly. "He doesn't look like a Jimmy."

"Or a Jim," she pipes.

"Jimbo."

"It makes me think of a circus elephant."

"That was Dumbo, Hales."

"Dumbo, Jimbo…they're both horrible."

"What about Jame? Or Jamie?"

A smile blooms on Haley's face. "Jamie. I like that. Jamie Scott. You like being called Jamie, sweetie?"

He shifts around in Nathan's arms, an air bubble on his lips, tiny and curled fists flailing.

"I think he approves," Nathan whispers, mesmerized by this small being that is a piece of him.

"You did really good, Hales," he says, glancing over at her.

He can't blame her for the insults she rained down on him, screaming in very colourful language that the stretch marks, swollen feet and weight gain were his damn fault.

But through all that excruciating pain, she persevered like a warrior.

She presses her lips to his, hand resting on his thigh. "I love you."

"I love you, too."

Sudden tiredness comes over her like a warm blanket, making her pliant and forgetful of the soreness.

Hand over her mouth as she yawns, she slides down the bed, her arm going over her husband's waist.

"Work?" she mumbles.

He smiles at his wife's pragmatism.

"I'll call them. I'm on official personal business today."

Before she can say any more, he adds, "And the team can do without me for a day."

Laughing softly, she snuggles closer to him. In a few minutes, she's relapsed into a deep sleep, breathing evenly.

Nathan gazes down at the baby in the hollow of his arms, taking in his features.

He does resemble Haley.

Under the socklike cap on his head, his wispy hair is a dark blonde like Haley's. His rosebud mouth is just like Haley's, and his nose is a small replica of hers. The only things that he's passed on to Jamie are the colour of his eyes, and the shape of his ears and fingers.

Slipping his index finger into Jamie's palm, he lets the tiny fingers wrap around it. His fingernails have already grown past the fingertips.

For the umpteenth time, his soul melts and his heart quickens at the exhilaration of holding his son. The moon-eyed love he feels for him is something new, yet captivating.

All those months he'd cradle the bulge of Haley's belly, talking and reading to a faceless little person in there, his imagination can't match up to what Jamie really looks like.

He was worried that he'd be like Dan to his child, cold and selfish, but he knows he isn't. That love he's feeling for Jamie is unconditional and completely natural, and the last thing he would ever want to do is hurt Jamie like his father did him.

The sound of wheels on the floor fills the room as a smiling dark-haired nurse walks in, pushing a baby bassinet.

"She finally fell asleep," she says in a soft tone, her eyes on Haley.

She's the same nurse who was there during the delivery.

"Yeah," he murmurs, looking down at Haley.

Hand under her head, her hair tumbles out on the pillow, the blonde strands shimmering like gold in the glow of the yellow lamp.

"Would you like me to take him?" she asks, stopping the see-through bassinet next to the bed.

"No, it's okay. I'll do it," he answers, his gaze unwavering on the baby.

"Congratulations," the nurse says as she turns back towards the door.

"Thank you."

Dropping his feet to the floor after ten minutes, he lays Jamie on his back in the bassinet carefully.

From now until he's wailing with hunger again, they can all sleep a little. It's close to four o'clock in the morning.

"We'll be right here, okay?" he coos, stretching out on the bed, his back to Haley.

He feels her move closer to him, her face in the crook of his neck, her soft breathing blowing along his skin.

For fear of something awful happening, he pulls the bassinet closer to the bed, hand curled around the edge of it.

With Jamie's little face in view, his eyes slowly start to close, the weariness of the day finally catching up to him.

***END* **


End file.
